By Nirina Mignon
The bell of the matin hour,
Lively hath trounced the sluggard’s sleep.
Convoked were the faithful, and the dens wherein hares creep.
The mourning dove its introit sings,
As clouds scuddle and shroud Sun and Moon,
Even as the pourpre raiment of Passiontide.
The early brisk hath rent the temple veil,
Under this grand doxology for a little I abide.
With regal mien is orderly creation consort
To fief divine, ministering the missal Heaven-Earth.
Amidst the sphere bisect, Daystar is consecrated.
Suffer for midday, monstrance immanent gleams forth:
Partèd is the indivisible in God’s remembrance.
Under the upwelling ramparts and their attrition,
His retinue of pilgrims meditate contrition;
With scrim and staff they reach the Cathedral summit.
Above the cruciform aisles, spire coronates the Immaculate Bride.
The sceptre triune is luminant by the glasspane
Bearing the image of the everliving font.
Bless the Lord, O my Soul;
Though the heathens clamor a disdainful world,
Conniving birth to be incarcerate, as the hylic doth.