by Ken Sehested
From the depths of distress, every sail sagged and limp,
my mutinous lips offer insurrecting sighs.
With heart-aching hope doth my voice still rejoice.
Incline us, consign us, to steadfast Embrace.
Fealty abandoned, no horizon in sight, my stride still
ascends the steep provident path.
With bone-bruising hope doth my voice still rejoice.
Incline us, consign us, to steadfast Embrace.
For I know that great stone, once rejected, now anchors
a mansion of welcome to both strangers and kin.
With feet-wearied hope doth my voice still rejoice.
Incline us, consign us, to steadfast Embrace.
With glad songs of vict’ry, from the formerly vanquished,
let the festal procession loot the treasury of fear.
With soul-rested hope doth my voice still rejoice.
Incline us, consign us, to steadfast Embrace.