At This Great, Trembling Hour

In the midst of total madness

and confusion, the gruesome streak

of dull paint across the Wall,

the mire of our ignorance,

marshes of our Time,

we do yet find some

Light: glints of the human,

whispers of Truth

so sorely needed

at this great, trembling Hour,

God, we beseech You,

beg Your pardon for our sins,

and wish for clarity

like the dissipated clouds,

or the fresh and verdant Isle

of the unclogged Mind,

or the emaciated Heart

let bled to be clean, cleansed,

so we’ll understand it, then.