Despite all past railings, O Lord, I grant
Thy atmospheric play still holds great cant
in the yet un-felled regions of My Soul…
I, who’ve seen Thy lightning blast trees whole!
Is it You? or I? who seeks the grail of control?!
Yet when You cast the aurora from either Pole,
it’s I who falters, looking up, at first askant,
then I who delights in such heavenly rant!