You tear my heart from could be love
Where fill of time is not enough,
Where tenses smother and senses shove
My soul to being pure.
Wherein I walk the garden of joyful reverie
And what is not the who I am extends itself to see
The ecstasy of wonder,
Enchantment’s holy hand
That what is less eternal quest
Find mortal reprimand
From purposes anointed,
The Christ within our midst
Where Judases still come and go
When duty lands its kiss.