These are the words of the first and the last
who holds the seven stars in his right hand.
The cloudless mornings now are overcast
and the first light of your golden lampstand
though not yet a shade, now darkens, dwindles.
You know the heft of love and quiet work;
know again the one who in you kindles
fire from driftwood and conjures from this murk
a light to banish shadows and the wraiths
that lurk therein. Do as you did at first
in the hour of your first love, first faith;
as an infant looks to the one who nursed
her through the long night, trust, come, draw near.
Those who have ears to hear, let them hear.