As thick, petrified snake,
Its scales of mottled bark,
Where far past all the canopies of men,
Its trunk enringed by billowed clouds,
And up through starry heights,
Where white-powdered fog-roiled beard of All-Father looms,
The thunder of his son beside him,
And the colors all of all the Heavenly Gods.
Through such clouds as these, I close my eyes and pray,
That rippling tree in serpentine waves might up
my breath’d requests that yearn for deep communion.
Rushing megin in my flesh, I tilt my head back,
And gasp with rapture. (And though this be cartoon of mind,
Though brightest, vibrant film to me,
These fancies stretched do make the link,
So far beyond is here beside.)
My only prayer, to make me holy,
Year by year by year.
And let ascend the spiraled staircase
Round the royal ash
Where my further noble blood
may be imbibed and fused into my bones,
The boons of which I share with kith,
And kin, as shining sun.
Let all stains of unworth begone ;
Let all unholy thoughts,
Let all unholy will,
Let all unholy deeds, drain down as watered venom
To the wastelands of the nether North,
Where they may rot the ill back into soil.
Give me strength to fight each battle,
The inner as the outer, too,
For ill, oft tricky, hides within,
As out withal we ward.
Let me pulse on that path laid for my wholemaking,
And never far astray from it do wend,
For where I don’t belong I have no holy power.
But where I do belong, give strength,
Give will, give righteous wisdom.
And as I ask You All to listen
With wisened balance the in-between
The mercy and the justice that I crave,
May I my own ears’ judgement broaden,
And to fellows fair, my fairest judgements give.
Let me gather my momentum,
as a wave with all its fellows does,
When rushing from the all of ocean,
It out upon the shores as horses spring.
For I am fruit, and fruit ought warm, and come to fullness.
Give soothe to wounds’ torment,
Which oft long linger after scars.
Let eyes in darkness rest from dazzle of battle’s blaze,
And in dream a new way portend and glimpse.
Let my boldness be a beacon to the weak,
To find their strength in bending,
But the ill leave far behind.
May I fulfill my highest, righteous rung of wyrd,
And be a blessing to my Folk, and Land, and Cosmos;
Be it humble, I shall smile.
Let breathe the bless of each day’s boon
Which you in plural color give
So deep into my inner dens,
And banish angst,
And banish sickness,
And banish every wicked seed of deed,
For I shall will the Good, in all its blessed Wholeness,
With the stridence of my fullest might,
And pledge myself to do thy Right,
Whose pathways long ago you laid down.
This, a humble-handed ant,
With spark of upper fires held
in silly, smallest brain,
Beneath on dust of planets’ shores,
A world though small, be full of good potential,
Offers up to Thee and Thine.
There in high cathedrals, in a city further far
Than all of space and time could fathom,
I know you are, and yet you hear my prayers.
O hear my prayers, O blessed Lords and Ladies.