Rush me to the altar, O wind, pray, carry me,
There the crimson flames, they await my love for He.
The sum of my existence, what’s mortal now, I flee,
Rising through to heaven, sweet oblation, ashes free.
Flame snuffed, His body gone cold,
Breath and pulse, now none behold.
Tears and mourning, a distant drone,
The earth passing, God and He alone.
How shall we weather the storm of judgement turning our way?
Surely, it must be with the deep roots of humble prayer and willing sacrifice that will prevent us from toppling over, rather than the self-glorifying acts all done in the name of charity.