Choice

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“Freedom, A Choice”,  a painting by Anila Ayilliath

 

Choice (*)

 

-Lord, let me come and join you in that land which beckons me, in those fields that I love.

-No, it is in this town that you must meet me.

-Lord, I long for the sun and the wilde flowers over there.

-I only have this black sky and these thorns to give you.

-But Lord, there is only noise and smoke here.

-There is something else as well; there is sin.

-Lord, I would so like to see again the blue water that you knew!

-Here, hearts are sick and souls are dying in darkness.

Lord, I could perhaps stay if you entered into my heart, if you took my hand. But when I see these streets […] my whole being revolts and escapes in thought over there. Must I therefore still stay here, with my sadness and my loneliness?

-My child, is it so difficult to decide? And to walk where I walk?”

(“Sunday Letters”, Lev Gillet, ‘A Monk of the Eastern Church’ by Elisabeth Behr-Sigel, p23)

*

* Dedicated to my spiritual father 

This dedication, initially made on 10/6/2017, holds true of course, only yesterday, when I re-discovered these letters last night, I thought every single iota of these verses was written for me! Piercing my heart … Each time, returning here is becoming increasingly difficult … 

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Living Waters

 

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Isaiah 43:19

19 Behold, I will do a new thing,

Now it shall spring forth;

Shall you not know it?

I will even make a road in the wilderness

And rivers in the desert.

 

John 4:10

10 Jesus answered and said to her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is who says to you, ‘Give Me a drink,’ you would have asked Him, and He would have given you living water.”

 

John 7:38

38 He who believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.”

 

John 19:34

34 But one of the soldiers with a spear pierced his side, and forthwith came there out blood and water.

*

Listen!

 

A person’s response to God’s offer of salvation is a matter of engaging the will, faith and action.

Without the will there is no movement,

Without faith there is no direction,

Without action there is no reward.

 

To discover Living Water requires us knowing:

Whose open Hand provides this blessing and treasure

What is it’s measure

and

Where to find it flowing?

 

We must start by digging for water in the caverns of the heart.

If the ground is rocky, we must dig in silence with the sharp adze of patience.

 

 

Listen carefully!

Do your hear something?

 

If our ground is hard, we must soften it with mercy and repentance:

For the soil of pride can only be removed through meek dependence

On God.

 

Listen!

Do you hear the drip of water on stone?

 

We must not simply remove the weeds which are the fruits of the passions,

we must excavate each day with persistence

since familiar habits possess a stubborn resistance;

whereas the humus of humility is the place to locate compassion.

 

In this way, we may even lead in order to serve.

Leading the way to build a viaduct for the King of Glory

Order our service to others by constructing a conduit for Christ.

 

Dig therefore with wisdom,

Dig with discernment,

Dig with love,

Whilst guarding the heart at all times with diligence.

 

Listen!

Do you hear water flowing?

 

Because at the time appointed,

At the opportune moment,

We who are disjointed

are healed and

Sealed with the Holy Spirit.

 

God opens the flood gates of our hearts

With His own master key of humility,

To become a channel of His grace.

 

Just listen to that sound!

 

The sound of Living waters;

an ocean wave, a mighty river in flood, a cascading waterfall

a fountain of benediction;

heard by earth’s sons and daughters

To become for all a Life- Giving spring, welling up to Eternity.

 

Work hard then each day and dig!

Listen, work, dig deep

head bowed with sweat and tears,

extinguishing fears of death, awakening life from sleep,

exchanging salt waters for sweet

to greet Living waters.

 

Many rich and powerful men would pay dearly to see the Lord or His Most Pure Mother, but God does not appear in riches, but in the humble heart… Every one of the poorest men can be humbled and come to know God. It needs neither money nor reputation to come to know God, but only humility.

(St. Silouan the Athonite, Writings, I.11,21)

 

By Fr. Jonathan Hemmings

 

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Suzana Monastery Retreat I

 

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Part A: How the little city hermit became a bird, a fountain, a tree and a pearl!

 

Deep peace of Christ, silence, hesychia, these are the words that come to my mind when I remember Suzana monastery and my three-day retreat there this summer. Also, self-emptying, kenosis. But above all, silence!

 

Only through poetry can such silence be conveyed, so I will paraphrase a favourite poet of mine, Rumi, to convey to you what I experienced here.

 

I had begged the Wise One to tell me
 the secret of my existence, my calling in this world.
 Gently, gently, He whispered at Suzana monastery “Be quiet,
the secret cannot be spoken,
 It is wrapped in silence.”

 

I ground myself, strip myself down, to this overpowering Silence. I feel spiraling into a void of silence where a hundred voices thundered messages I longed to hear.

 

At its unfathomable bottom I encounter a vast fullness, the Spark of LIFE and LOVE, a secret passage to the WAY which wandering talk blocks, a dimension where HE was waiting for me, for my soul to shake.

 

I was carrying so much baggage while seeking the signs of the Way.

 

But at Suzana* monastery, I am ‘forced’ to stop, open up, surrender to this thundering silence, be invaded by ‘It’, and 
stay there until I Saw, until I looked at this blinding Light 
with infinite eyes.

 

This overpowering Silence kidnaps me to the core of Life. There is a sacredness in it. Silence is indeed the language of God, and all else is poor translation.

 

This is exactly what I experience when I am trying to write a poem, how I feel especially when I finish a poem. A great silence overcomes me and I wonder why I ever thought to use language.

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Silence is indeed the sea, and speech is like the river. The sea is seeking you: don’t seek or walk into the river. Don’t turn your head away from the signs offered by the sea. Listen to the ocean.

 

The sound of Waters and the sound of Silence is a motif in Suzana monastery. At least for me. Everywhere the sound of waters reaches you, so overwhelmingly that I often feel the need to stay in my ‘cell’ and not even venture out.

 

Just listening to that sound was so overwhelming! The very moment I set my foot on this monastery, the sound of Living waters immobilized me, an ocean wave, a mighty river in flood, a cascading waterfall, a fountain of benediction, a Life- Giving spring, welling up to Eternity.

 

Isaiah 43:19

19 Behold, I will do a new thing,
Now it shall spring forth;
Shall you not know it?
I will even make a road in the wilderness
And rivers in the desert.

 

John 7:38

38 He who believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.”

 

 

 

Kenosis is also another state I suffered there:

“And they shall build the old wastes,

they shall raise up the former desolations,

and they shall repair the waste cities,

the desolations of many generations.” (Isaiah 61:4)

 

I needed so desperately such ‘Decluttering’ in my life, a Relentless Focus, a Subtraction, Becoming ‘poor’, an Unburdening, a Curtail, a Reduction and Emptying, Until my rebellious bones sore.

 

 

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This silence, this moment, every moment, this silence brought all what I needed. I sat quietly, and listened for a voice which told me ‘Be more silent.’ ‘Die’ and be quiet. Maybe quietness is the surest sign that you’ve ‘died’. My old life was such a frantic running from silence. Suzana monastery moved me, even for a little, outside the tangle of fear-thinking.

 

In the end, I became a pearl!

 

“And since I have wandered in thee, pearl,

I will gather up my mind

And by having contemplated thee,

Would become like thee,

In that thou art all gathered up into thyself;

And as thou in all times art one,

One let me become by thee!” (St Ephraim, The Pearl)

 

This very old, poor, secluded, fairy-tale monastery, surrounded by forests, mountains and springs, and steeped in holiness, is most certainly God’s special Providence for my tired, exhausted self.

 

I feels like coiling in a virginal womb, unwinding time, beholding

 

“The memory of the glory that I had when I was entirely with You and entirely in You, before time and temporal illusions.

 

When I, too, was a harmonious trinity in holy unity, just as You are from eternity to eternity.

 

When the soul within me was also in friendship with consciousness and life.

 

When my soul also was a virginal womb, and my consciousness was wisdom in virginity, and my life was spiritual power and holiness.

 

 

When I, too, was all light, and when there was no darkness within me.

 

When I, too, was bliss and peace, and when there were no torments of imbalance within me.

 

When I also knew You, even as You know me, and when I was not mingled with darkness.

 

When I, too, had no boundaries, no neighbors, no partitions between “me” and “you.” (St. Nikolai Velimirovich, Memories – Prayers By the Lake XXX)

 

Even the very fact that I cannot not speak Romanian, just barely understand it, is an added blessing, an extra ‘precaution’, a ‘just in case’ … Speaking all too often impoverishes, drenches us. As St. Seraphim of Sarov wisely urges us, “Keep away from the spilling of speech”.

 

Hesychia, Deep peace of Christ wrapped me in green leaves like a tree;

I breathed like a tree in the quiet light!

 

* Suzana Monastery is a Romanian monastery about 5.5 to 6 hours away from Rasca monastery in Bucovine, North Moldavia, where Fr. Seraphim Aldea was tonsured as a monk in 2005. After my retreat here I have a slightly better, more ‘intimate’ understanding of ‘Romanian’ Orthodoxy and Fr. Seraphim’s calling to found the first Orthodox monastery, Mull monastery, in the Hebrides in over a millennium. In a sense only a Romanian hieromonk would be really equipped, spiritually, emotionally, as well as intellectually, to undertake such a huge task! Glory to God for everything!

 

 

 

 

 

Continue to Part II

Confession of the Blind Woman

 

Mother Xeni’s poetry

Today I discovered a new member of my spiritual family, a blind, prescient Amma and a gifted poetess, who happens to be my own spiritual great-grandmother!  Mother Xeni served as  the Abbess of St. Nectarios’ (spelled also: St.Nektarios) newly-founded Monastery in Aegina (Greece) for nuns, and was the spiritual grandmother of my own spiritual mother, Sister Angeliki, who was tonsured a novice there and was ringing the bells upon St. Nektarios’ glorification! 

Glory to God! The circle of Grace expands like ripples in the pool!

 

mother xenia orthodox city hermit spiritual grandmother

 

 

To God

 

A soul, of lamentations worthy, and sorrows, is sighing,

and with a loud and fervent voice, the name of God crying,

and saying, my God save me now, my God, have mercy on me,

O God, You’ve seen my darkness now, so shed Your light upon me,

my God, don’t turn away from me, but quickly hear my pleading,

enlighten my soul’s eyes, O God, spiritually leading;

because they have been blinded from the sins within my depths.

O wretched self, I cannot see; my God, I lose my steps.

Miserable me, I cannot see, my God, where I am going,

or where I stand, or that I am a stranger, past my knowing.

Many clouds and mists my soul in darkness shroud and cover,

and without measure I embitter You, my sweetest Savior.
O wretch, within I feel upheaval, mourning pierced my side,

for Your All-Holy Spirit, Lord, to me must be denied;

my soul must weep eternally her poverty of grace,

and without ceasing to lament in tears that woeful place.

I must avenge myself for all the pain sin makes me suffer,

and with the rivers of my tears, my deep repentance offer;

the tender earth to which I will return, with weeping drench,

to cleanse and flood away the traces of my sins’ foul stench.

I am no longer worthy, Lord, to hope in Your compassion,

I’m worthy only of hell-fire, and suffering, damnation.

But you, my refuge is in You, my God and my Salvation…

(transl. from Greek Fr Demetrios Serfes)

 

GerontissaXeni

Confession of the Blind Woman

 

People, hear and pity me, for this, my situation,

and pray to God to spare me, my wretched soul to give salvation.

Believe me, all of you, my brethren, truly I’ll explain,

in me is found abundantly the name of works I now will make plain.

If you would like to know which virtues I have called my own,

I’ll tell you: naked is my soul of good in every form.

Utterly devoid of virtue, sentenced to be damned,

and by every purity most utterly abandoned.

Poverty past bounds is mine, and wounds and ill diseases,

and being lost forever in the folds of death’s deep creases.

Severe insentitivity and stupor overcome me,

anger, pride, hard-heartedness and evil have undone me.

To virtue I am cold as ice, but warm to wickedness,

always ready for laughter’s lure and for talkativeness.

Instead of being compassionate, I’m totally unfeeling,

instead of weeping constantly, I laugh, the wretched worldling!

But there is something yet, that hides so perfectly these evils.

How long will I so fool the world, though I am like the devils,

with my false piety, fake virtue and hypocrisy?

When the world regards me highly, I rejoice and boast,

but when they criticise me, even kindly, I am sad, and mope.

Whomever of you knows me, I exhort you to feel piety,

and when reminded of me, weep for my iniguity.

Beg our God that someday He enlightenment will send me;

and by your prayers, my brethren, I hope that He will save me,

and from my somber wickedness and evil, He will free me.

(transl. from Greek Fr Demetrios Serfes)

 

Go here for an interview with a nun who knew Saint Nektarios and who lived with Mother Xeni

 


A SWEET AND BLESSED REPOSE,GERONDISSA XENI ! HUMBLY CRY OUT FOR OUR SALVATION TO OUR LORD GOD! 


 

“Gerondissa (Greek for Abbess) Xeni, was born in 1867, and reposed in the Lord 1923. Mother Xeni, was chosen to become an Abbess of St. Nectarios (spelled also: St.Nektarios) newly-founded Monastery in Aegina for nuns. This beloved handmaiden of our Lord was blind from the age of 9 months, and although physically blind, she was not spiritually blind. She lived under the spiritual guidance of St. Nectarios, and sincerely developed great Christian virtue, discernment and love. Even before the holy Saint Nectarios officially named her to preside over the Community of nuns in Aegina all the girls and women considered her to be their leader due to her piety, compassion and the great grace which dwelt in her sweet soul. This holy, pure, and chosen woman, though she fully realized the scope of her blessedness, did not “consider salvation a thing to be grasped” (Phil.3:13).

Gerondissa Xeni is mentioned in the “Life of St. Nectarios of Aegina“.

During the life of Gerondissa Xeni, she wrote her poetry, which is now becomming more and more well known. We truly discover the secret of her blessed familiarity and closeness both to the Saint, and to our God in Trinity: humility. Gerondissa Xeni poetry is spiritually remarkable, and full of love for God! Her poetry serves to help us, her readers, to be able to reflect on our own path to salvation.”

By Father Demetrios Serfes

 

Source: Orthodox Poetry Of Gerondissa (Abbess) Xeni Of Aegina, Greece (1867-1923), Compiled by Father Demetrios Serfes, Boise, Idaho, USA, Introduction by Father Demetrios Serfes

Cosmic Dawn

 cosmic_dawn_by_harrietta

Cosmic Dawn: The Real Moment of Creation

Horizon reveals the real moment of creation – the Cosmic Dawn, the moment of first light. This is the scientific version of the story of Genesis.

Re-Creation

Beyond all things was God the Word

From the void of eternity

Time and space in creation heard

The Voice speaking infinitely.

cosmic dawn

Spirit of God on the waters

Divine Word of life in the night

“Creatio ex nihilo”

Father said “Let there be light!”

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You divided light from darkness

You split the first atom to say

How we should separate evil

And distinguish the night from day.

CosmicTrinityDivineStarCosmicDawnWEB

Lord, you brought chaos to order

Your great Wisdom cushioned the deep

Recording a holy cosmos

Awakening formless sleep.

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You placed the orbits and quasars

Winding the clock into time

The coherence behind the laser

The reason within the rhyme.

From ground-based telescopes, this cosmic object - the glowing remains of a dying, sun-like star - resembles the head and thorax of a garden-variety ant. This NASA/ESA Hubble Space Telescope image, released on February 1, 2001, of the so-called

You bring pure joy out of sadness

You still bring life out of breath

Sanity in human madness

Gladdening sorrowing death.

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The real hub in revolution

The one who planted the Tree

Adam and Eve-lution

The One who caused things to be.

sunrise cosmic 1920x1080 wallpaper_www.knowledgehi.com_61

The Great Mover pushed the button

Silence before seraphim sang

Infinite God formed the finite

The Big One made the Big Bang.

*

By Father Jonathan Hemmings

Art of Being — Being of Art

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My Symphony

To live content with small means.
To seek elegance rather than luxury,
and refinement rather than fashion.
To be worthy not respectable,
and wealthy not rich.
To study hard, think quietly, talk gently,
act frankly, to listen to stars, birds, babes,
and sages with open heart, to bear all cheerfully,
do all bravely, await occasions, hurry never.
In a word, to let the spiritual,
unbidden and unconscious,
grow up through the common.
This is to be my symphony.
By William Ellery Channing

Soaring on Eagles’ Wings

“And God saw that it was good” (Genesis 1)

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“Exceedingly sad is the blindness of the sons of men, who do not see the power and glory of the Lord.

There is too much of You, O Lord, my breath, therefore people do not see You. You are too obvious, O Lord, my sighing …”

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“A bird lives in the forest, and does not see the forest. A fish swims in the water, and does not see the water. A mole lives in the earth, and does not see the earth … “ Velimirovic (1880 – 1956), Prayers by the Lake,  VII

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“… … The world is a mirror of infinite beauty, yet no man sees it. It is a Temple of Majesty, yet no man regards it. It is a region of Light and Peace, did not men disquiet it.”

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“You never enjoy the world aright, …. till every morning you awake in Heaven; see yourself in your Father’s Palace; and look upon the skies, the earth, and the air as Celestial Joys … “

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“It is the Paradise of God. It is more to man since he is fallen than it was before. It is the place of Angels and the Gate of Heaven. …”

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“You never enjoy the world aright, till the Sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens, and crowned with the stars: Till you can sing and rejoice and delight in God, as misers do in gold, and Kings in sceptres, you never enjoy the world.”

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“You never enjoy the world aright …Till your spirit filleth the whole world, and the stars are your jewels …”

Thomas Traherne (1636 or 1637 – ca.1674) English metaphysical poet, ecstatic theologian and clergyman — Centuries of Meditation, ‘almost the most beautiful book in the English language’, according to CS. Lewis

Discovered at https://afkimel.wordpress.com/2015/09/13/you-never-enjoy-the-world-aright/

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“The Earth is Art, The Photographer is only a Witness”

Yann Arthus-Bertrand, Earth from Above

For more information go go to Yann Arthus-Bertrand official website at http://www.yannarthusbertrand.org/en AND to a captivating image-filled Ted talk, where Yann Arthus-Bertrand displays his three most recent projects on humanity and our habitat — his stunning aerial photographs in his series “The Earth From Above,” personal interviews from around the globe featured in his web project “6 billion Others,” and his soon-to-be-released movie, “Home,” which documents human impact on the environment through breathtaking video.  https://www.ted.com/talks/yann_arthus_bertrand_captures_fragile_earth_in_wide_angle?language=en

For Yann Arthus-Bertrand stunning latest opus Human, for promo material and trailers go to https://www.google.com/culturalinstitute/u/0/collection/human-the-movie, for excerpts to https://www.youtube.com/user/HUMANthemovie2015  and for the whole movie to http://www.human-themovie.org

Jaws of Eternity

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Heartbreaking Paintings and Poems from Communist Prisons in Romania — II

DAYS

by

Radu Gyr

Tuesday, Wednesday, Saturday, Monday

Neutral days without form,

Like a great fog

Over the landscape

Good morning, prison cell!

Good night, prison bars!

I’d smash you as a mastiff in his fangs

I’d rend you with my teeth, O Cell!

I stand in Time terribly naked

With my soul planted in liquid eternity,

Like an atoll in an ocean

Beaten by torrid winds…

Dungeon, dungeon, mad fortress,

How my hate would set fire to you!

Life, life outside,

How dare you dance in my dreams like a puppet!

Tuesday,Wednesday,Friday – what day is it?

the week is a dead amassment;

My months pass through no calendar,

My island is on no map.

Monday, Wednesday, Thursday – The devil take you!

Stinking days – Stagnant days,

Here in the jaws of eternity

Who shall count your dark hundreds?

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HUNGRY

by

Nichifor Crainic

 

If ever I was a cluster of grapes,

today I am residue left by the press.

Into the fathomless hunger in me

pour some drop of juice.

I feel how my body is melting away,

a soup of amaranth would warm it.

If touched by a blade of grass

in a flash I’d be green.

At least let my phantom arm

pick an apple from a tree.

It will fill my mouth with aroma

and I would truly live.

In the country of sheep folds and bread

I dream of mushroom soup.

Let me shelter with the dogs

near the heaven of a bowl of terci.*

On the depth of my hunger

blind deserts open up.

When the last spoonful is eaten

I drop over my bowl and spoon.

O God, You Who

out of two fishes and five loaves

made mountains of food

and satisfied thousands of poor

Repeat the miracle, O Good One,

and satisfy thousands of mouths.

Listen also to my prayer,

Give me the basket of crumbs.

* terci – a thin gruel often given to dogs


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JESUS IN THE NIGHT

by

Radu Gyr

This night Jesus entered my cell.

O how sad, how tall was Christ!

The moon followed Him into my cell

And made Him taller, sadder still.

He sat by me upon my mat;

“Put your hand upon my wounds.”

On His ankle there were scars from sores and rust

As if He too had worn chains once…

His hands were like lilies upon a grave,

His eyes as deep as forests;

His garments whitened by the moon,

Silvering in His hands old wounds.

Sighing, He stretched His weary bones

Upon my lousy mat;

In His sleep He shone forth, but the heavy bars

Lengthened upon Him like rods.

I rose from beneath my gray blanket.

“Lord, from whence come you? Out of which eternity?”

Jesus put His finger to His lips

And signed me to be still.

My cell seemed like a mountain peak;

Rats and roaches swarmed around;

I felt my head fall heavy upon my hand

And I slept, a thousand years…

When I awoke from my heavy trance

The straw smelled of roses;

I was in my cell and there was moonlight

But Jesus was nowhere.

“Where are you, Lord?” I cried between the bars.

Across the moon came drifts of mist…

I touched myself, and found upon my palms

The sign of His nails.


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VISIT 

by

Radu Gyr

The exhausted wind froze

like a bow on a cracked violin.

Last night an angel knocked in my door,

his voice weak, his tread tired.

I don’t know if he came from heaven

or some earthly cross

but he looked at me with wounded eyes,

trembling with cold when I welcomed him.

In his eyes of strange god

it was as if some grave illness battled

and he gazed at me with blood-filled eyes

and all that night he wept upon my breast.

In the morning I found him no more.

vestiges of red footprints faded from my door.

Far away in the sky on a cracked violin

the wind fell like a broken bow.

*

Pitesti Prison — Gulag

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Poems from Communist Prisons by Mother Alexandra

Foreword

Within this booklet are a few poems originally written in Romanian, chosen from a large collection, POEZII DIN INCHISORI, edited by Zahu Pana, published by CUVANTUL ROMANESC, 1982

They were written or rather composed by political prisoners who had no paper on which to write. They were memorized by those who survived, and finally spirited out to the free West. Remarkable in that they are true poetry of the soul, they express various emotions of those unjustly imprisoned by the Communist Party, for the crime of independent thought. None of these poets were criminals. They were philosophers, theologians (lay or clergy), generals, intellectuals of all sorts, factory workmen and tillers of the soil. Women and even children shared the same fate.

Source: https://orthodoxyinottawa.wordpress.com/poems-from-communist-prisons/

And http://www.romanianstudies.org/content/2012/11/poetry-in-translation-cxlvi-sergiu-mandinescu-1926-1964-romania-prison-warder-suflet-de-calau

The Pearl

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O Lord, Almighty, aid me! Grains of sand

Their way inside me ceaselessly find

Afflictions provoke my widow heart

Harass me, vex me, pester and grind.

*

May your beautiful veil over

My soul drape, Thy Love wrap.

Forgive, hapless soul,

Pardon, evade the trap.

*

O, may resentment and anguish desert,

O, may my wounds be moulded to pearls.

Thy Grace, Redeemer, my soul of thorn

Heal, pray, aid me, suffer Thy nails.

*

Like Your Glory Resplendent on Cross,

Assist me, Redeemer, to die with Thee.

O, bless, sweet Jesus, restrain, impede

Prevent me an oyster barren to be!

*

THE PEARL: SEVEN HYMNS ON THE FAITH

By St. Ephraim of Syria — Translated by J.B. Morris

http://www.voskrese.info/spl/pearl.html

” …Shadowed forth in thy beauty is the beauty of the Son,
Who clothed Himself with suffering when the nails passed through Him.
The awl passed in thee since they handled thee roughly,
As they did His hands;
And because He suffered He reigned,
As by they sufferings thy beauty increased … “

(c) University of Exeter, Fine Art Collection; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

Mud and Wax

This week, my Lord, mud I became,

Broken and fractured, cracked mud.

All my bones, Out of joint,

Mud I became, cracked mud.

*

Too fierce the heat,

Too scorching inferno.

The sun beat down

Beat down on me.

*

Oh, through fire I went

And I dried

Withered away

And I cracked.

Mud Cracks

Oh, would Your Grace softly wrap me,

When I walk through fire and tears

Oh, would my heart not crack but soften

Melt at Your fire like wax.

melted-candles

Might Your blaze thaw me and melt me,

Mould me like wax under the seal

Engrave me, Heavenly Jeweller, Engrave Your signet

Seal Thy Icon upon my heart.

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Bless me, my Master, Your struggling servant,

Render me Holy, Bridegroom Divine.

‘Holy to LORD’, Redeemer Celestial

My Prince of Peace, UnBounded Love.