He knows, and doth not fear ; 
His will is keen and clear ; 
His lips are silent to protect the secret mysteries. 
No tempter spreads his net 
So that his thoughts forget 
The glory they have set 
Before their face, nor loose their hold upon the 
perfect prize. 
 
My hands no longer write : 
Communion with the night 
Is built, a bride of fiery truth across the subtle 
mind. 
God’s angels, and His fire, 
Consume the soul’s desire, 
And strike a lighter lyre. 
I seek ;  the angels lead me on, all light and truth 
to find. 
 
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