Scribbledehobble
1. The Mystery of Creation
The word is wide around us;
it is a round us,
a roundel in a round,
written without a sound,
sundered from all note
yet written in a note.
I have ridden round the round,
written down the rood,
the road to heaven high,
down the way to sky.
The angles sing,
fair and square,
triangular up there,
where sigh the zephyrs fair
in the zithers of their hair.
Holly lute, hallowed lute,
with tambrel and with drum,
holly lute, yeah, hallowed lute,
with the damsel thrum.
2. The Mystery of The Adam
Man is woman working outward,
man is Highest working downward,
life from breathing on the water,
life from life through life all-bearing,
man and woman baring
in an Eden never boring.
Adam is of Adam half the Adam
(for man is Adam, not an atom);
Adam in Eden's evening
lightly leafing, breezes heaving,
having living haven,
dreams of loving Eve.
Truly she is heaven,
in woman man is even,
and here sleeps Adam dreaming
upon the eve of Eve;
crowned with sun-corona,
through sagehood and comprehension,
with no apprehension,
through grace and justice poured
la fille de la grâce
(for she just is the fill of grace)
and through splendor twice respendent,
she descends through victory,
eternity,
to the utter founding,
and there she is, the dwelling
of the light poured on the world.
Ave Eva, plenty gracious!
Ave, Eva, full of grace!
The anointed and his bride
are announced with holy banns.
But sorry, like a sword
is a sorrow sliking inward,
with sinuous insinuation
and seductive peroration.
The summer turns now autumn
and the leaves are brown in fall.
Ave, Eve, full of grace!
But salve, Eva, may God have mercy,
salve Eva, fallen grace.
The crown is dimmed on Adam
with the shadow of the damned.
3. The Mystery of the Chariot
Metatron may measure
but there is higher and unmeasured;
none may mete it, it is not metric,
it rules all, a judicial ruler,
the root of righteous reason,
on a throne of light and fire.
We are thrown before the throne,
we bow down,
we cast our crowns,
as the leaping zap of lightning,
all-enlightening,
zigs and zags above our heads.
Blessed be the Glory from its Place!
(He is the Glory, He is the Place),
we sing with hallowed lute,
yeah, holy lute,
already by the river,
roving beneath the temple,
exiled by rolling time.
From the north, the wind and cloud,
resplendent above the river,
with a white-hot fire,
a living fire, a leavened fire,
a hale and high and hallowed fire,
flaming forth the fourfold four
facing four directions:
man and lion, ox and eagle,
with upward wings upwinging,
and wings around their bodies,
they straigthway move, unswinging,
unturning undeterred.
The lightening leaped between them.
Skydomed above the creatures
a throne with voices thundered,
and on the throne of Glory
was one like the son of man,
a man of molten fire
with a rainbow 'round his head.
Like a Son of Man,
like the Glory of the Lord,
he sits and rules:
under throne we cast our crowns,
for we are overthrown.
Ave Maria, plenty gracious!
Eva Maria, full of grace!
4. The Mystery of the Bride
A river not already but eternal from the throne
waters trees of plenty,
plenty gracious, unalone.
On the throne the Lamb,
seven eyes like seven suns,
the spring of living water
in the city jewel-encrusted
where the Jewish tribes all gather
to bring their sheaves to Zion
and the apostolic thrones.
The world is altered,
is an altar,
evermore will be unaltered,
evermore will be unaltared.
The word is wide around us,
all around us the world is worded,
as descending from the heavens
comes the Bride unto her Lamb.
All the lame are here unlamed,
by the blood they all are lambed,
waving sheaves of harvest
as the city comes in glory,
and they sing a psalm in honor:
Ave Zion, plenty gracious,
haily holy Bride well-graced!
