Not the large thunders, for I cannot hear
Your word to me within the shouted phrase.
Whisper with gentleness, for I am small,
Cramped to the fragile limit of my days.
Show me no maps of heaven, eye’s not seen
Grandeur so vast, nor can I count its gauge.
Dazzled by dewdrops, mesmerised by mice,
My sight cannot encompass such a stage.
Not the vast eons, flaming through the sky --
Limit Your love to now, this second’s span.
I, not eternal, but poor child of time,
Would hold Your finger in my finger’s scan.
I would hold and be held, and I would know,
To the small limits of my littleness,
Love, not as the transcendent spirits know,
But, in this breath, this heart, Your soft caress.
Therefore withhold the music of the spheres,
Until I grow to meet You face to face.
Now, showing mercy to my finitude,
Grant me my this-day’s-portion of Your grace.