Burning as the Afric wind that races Northward from its desert land, Wind that blasts and covers green oases With its ropes of parching sand.
Rough and angry as the winds that bluster Where Tibetan temples shine, Winds like savage lancers come to muster On an Eastern frontier line.
Sad and blind as winds that wander sobbing, Where the raw Atlantic mist From the stars their pearly radiance robbing, Grips the shore with damp white fist.
So our souls from every quarter eddy, North and South and East and West, Jesu, till the wayward and the ready On thy heart all sink to rest.
ON to the bank that recedes, On through the shadows that mock, Tearing my staff from the weeds, Bruising my feet on the rock, Caught by this Babe who appealed, Calling to echoes astray; Would that my heart I had steeled, Left Him to listen till day! Child, who dost crush me with weight, Child of the pitiful eyes, Whence didst Thou come to my gate? How didst Thou fool me to rise From my lone bed?
Sweeter than bells at the Mass, Older and newer than time, Charming the shadows to pass Ringeth His voice in a chime. Firm is the touch of His hands, Soft as my mother’s caress, Loosing my misery’s bands, Calming the wrath I confess. Child, who hast healed all my pain, Joy of my soul, must we part Just when the bank we shall gain? Blest be these feet on my heart! They too have bled.
O LIGHT that lives on every hill and shore, Beyond the light that dies at close of day, The tears fill up the chalice of mine eyes With gladness, when I see Thee far away.
O Stream that flows until the world shall end, Past fretful town and hermitage and field, Red are thy waters, but they throb with peace; I touch their dew and all my wounds are healed.
O Voice that speaks in every grove and street, Above the song of birds and oaths of men, I hear and follow Thee, although my steps Begin a course that lies beyond my ken.
O Face returning at each Eucharist, More close than forms that change with changing years, I am the veil between myself and Thee, Burn Thou the veil, and burning, kill my fears.
O Guest that comes to take away our best, And all the loves we garner at our side, Thou art our Best, our Home art Thou. For Thee, Attentive I will labour and abide.
