|Swinging low in chariots
Each band of angels holds its fire,
Thinking we poor fools below
Have all the pain that we require.
And the mountains in reply
Nod their drifty, rock-wreathed heads,
Drawing back bold deities,
Leaving us in anguished beds.
O, Mary, neither weep nor mourn
Remembering the fuel-less flame,
Remembering the love of God,
A thing we called "Ha-Shem," the Name.
In everyone there is a Name;
No ecstasies beyond our heads:
Each alone must tend the fire.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon