Lay your hand upon me, run your fingers through my hair,
A kiss upon my eyelids, the scent of your presence, fair.
No more then will I see you, come, night, its frosty air,
But as yet, the stars, they’re shining, love, our sweet affair.
A thought, a dream, a wistful wish, floating here and there,
Rising from the towering clouds, my castle in the air.
Whose very walls guard happiness, home with my maiden fair,
And earthly thoughts, lost, faraway, my throne, my rocking chair.
A glance of hidden sunlight, the earth, its seasons due,
The sighing of the willow tree, the ocean, stillness, blue.
As swallows, they’re departing, the skies, now home to few,
The wintery air approaching, the leaves, their hour, adieu.
Ever soft and feathery light, what blessed food is this?
Ground, the rough and broken grain, now, smooth as satin kiss.
Granted for our eating, what no angel could resist,
Sweet manna for the journey, His flesh, the Eucharist.
“Man ate the bread of the angels” ~ Psalm 78:25
“My flesh is real food” ~ John 6:55
Won’t you venture forth with me, a brave adventure, find,
All the sights and sounds and smells, the dreary world, behind.
To seek instead that treasure rich, the deepest forest, wind,
And gain a friend who’s precious, true, the purest gold refined.
Come, stoke this slumbering furnace, again its bellows strain,
A trial by tempest fire, at last, I’m alive again.
Breathing, heaving, burning, with each turn, a deep refrain,
Then even as all is ashes, o how bright, the glory gain!
Trees, their swaying branches, the rustling of the leaves,
Brilliance of the summer sky, the earth in quiet, heaves.
Ears, in earnest seeking, the whispering corn, their sheaves,
The distant cattle lowing, the child, his mother cleaves.