Allow me to tell what our light truly is—
to live by creation, that is reward enough!
And racing forward, pressing through the mist,
I’ll rise beyond, whatever stands as rough.
Look past the ages—see how freedom bends,
tended softly, fragile as a dream;
that calamity which humbles pride,
that passion born beyond the stream of time.
Do not mimic the image of Christ,
nor seek within cathedral walls release,
but in the wandering tongue of pagan light—
find there perfection, where love itself is peace.