Poetry · Faith
The Fire Divine
When first I saw thy soul through mortal eyes,
A tremor stirred the temple of my breast;
No lust of earth, but flame from purer skies,
That burned yet bade my hungering flesh to rest.
Thy voice, a prayer half-whispered into light,
Did sanctify the dark wherein I dwelt;
Thy gaze transfigured common day to night,
Where heaven’s warmth within mine own I felt.
O blessed wound, that teaches me to yearn,
Not for possession, but for holy fire;
To lose myself and through thy spirit learn
How mortal love ascends to God’s desire.
So if I crave thee, let the craving prove—
That worship is the truest form of love.
Sacred Love · Desire · Transfiguration
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