Lashing zephyr of divine tempest

Overwhelm my being, drowning me in a trance;

A vision of thee, decked in pious garland

Of serene thought and tranquil fancy.

Thou sit by my aide, and thy mighty presence

Purges my soul, sieving the abominable bits

And leaving me pristine, retracing my existence

To the early days of my being, when thou held my hand

In every step, when thou company immuned me

From the rising culpable and profane influences;

When thy ambrosial radiance burnt the heinous

Forces, subsuming me in the deluge of piety.

Once again, I do behold the former sight,

But less benignant, less amenable, desolated

For me losing that naiveté, once gifted by thee.

These might winds of thou rip my soul apart

And purges me from the vices and vile acts,

Once again I feel the austere touch of thy hand

Only less loving, less indulgent, less warm

And yet I feel blessed, yet I feel sanctified

For thy sight revives me, unburdens me from

The heavy stones of life, wafts me to the abode,

And even when the zephyr mellows and the trance deadens,

I carry thy message to humanity: to shed dejection, for thou

Never leave thy child bare. . . .