The following excerpt from Sarah Reardon, Home Songs, is published with permission from Wipf and Stock Publishers.
Her hands are quick with knowledge as she weaves
Upon the robe its final vibrant strands.
Her fingers quake, just momentarily,
Then brush her face, and with resolve, she stands,
Begins preparing for the yearly journey:
The bread her hands have made, he never eats,
The crops his family grows, he never sees,
The crowd of brothers whom he never meets.
“Not mine, O Lord, but yours,” she prays,
As others have, and will, with tears and sweat.
And Hannah, being feeble, binds on strength
And climbs the temple steps, her face still wet
But heart exulting and mouth wide with joy.
The Lord kills and brings to life—all at once.
She rushes now to meet her little boy,
She looks to him as joyous as if drunk.
Sarah Reardon
Sarah Reardon studied at Grove City College, taught at a classical Christian school, and now lives in Maryland with her family. Her work has appeared in outlets such as First Things, Plough, and National Review. Her first collection of poetry, Home Songs, was published by Wipf and Stock in 2025.
