codex חקל דמא
O Thou rood-climbing Vine
Of incarnate Godhead,
Ingraft me now with a grain offering,
Baked on the spit of transgression for me.
Laver me well in the bath of Thine heart
That the Word-winging Spirit accompanied there,
On the Mount of the Lord, the throne-room of Zion,
Ignoble Uzziah’s death-year did foreshow.
Succor me now with that eon-aged Wine,
Issuing forth from the rent in Thy side,
A chalice of wrath ‘pon the head of the Foe,
On the chthonic Usurper who brooks not Thy love.
Sing in my lungs the Te Deum Laudamus,
Boastingly weak for my fourscore and some,
Cobble them back from entropic decay,
Just enough, that I ken my Redeemer.
Then tender my ashes and clay to the earth,
Whence I was drawn in the loins of my father.
Let Thine oil seal the elements
Drawn over me.
Vigil my winter-wheat body
In death, sundered of soul and awaiting Thy Hand.
Regard me while yet
I remain far afield.
And then, after Time,
Pass Thyself through the stone,
And rotate the Rock of the Age of Mankind
Bound with our blood to the caps of Thy scroll.
Roll it up to the tune of Quotidian rapture
On the Day of New Earth,
And the winterless Spring,
But ’til then:
O Lord, forsake me not in the hours in-between.