Glories

God is glorious by nature, we by fortune; His is necessary, ours can know failure.

Our splendor is a vine, needing rain and sun;

it is devoured by violence and starved by its soil.

God’s light, unmoved star; our light, pale moon, secondary in shine, unsteadily it moves.

A Cento of Blooms

Cheerful shall be the pasture, exultant shall be the waste; the desert shall bloom like meadow-saffron. Blossoming, it shall bloom and exult, exultantly shouting.

The weight of the Lord is found in it, who made sky and land and sea, who made all within them, who perpetually guards faithfulness, who bestows return on the defrauded, who gives bread to the famished.

Rise to the challenge, then, brothers, until the Lord’s appearing; regard the farmer who waits on the fine fruits of the earth, rising to its challenge until it brings forth; to the challenge rise, and fortify your hearts.

Go, then, and tell what you see; having gone, relate what you hear: the smoke-eyed look upward, the limping walk around, the scaly are purified,

the ear-blunted now listen, the corpses are awakened, the cringing are well-taught, and fulfilled is the one never stumbling.

Stand fast, dread not, God will avenge; God will come to free you: your blinded eyes will be opened, your deafened ears will be made open, your limping legs like stags shall leap, your muted tongue shall sing,

for the pasture shall bloom with waters, and rivers burst forth in the wasteland, and the droughted dust shall form pools, and fountains dwell in the thirsty land.