To my Lord Supreme
(5th-9th December 1950)

     Never could I give my eyes to Thy Eyes light-giving,
     Nor feel the touch of Thy Golden Hand's Grace,
     Thy Hand's my Lord, while on earth Thou wast living-
     Never could I prostrate myself before my Lord's Face.

     But I loved Thee always and I was Thine
     When with me in my anguished land Thou didst throw Thy Soul,
When to my tears in grief Thou didst chain Thy Cry.
     Thou hast not forgotten, my Lord, I know.

     And then, when the fierce pride of the Dark and its wrath
     Into Thy cells Thou didst suck in to transform into Light,
     That Light came shining on my sorrowful path
     Where fear, where pain were creeping, and despair of Night.

     Now, in Thy Home, Thou hast taken me into Thy arms,
     Near Thy Living Stone, at Thy feet, I can rest,
     Like a tired worker who returns to his own home's charm,
     Like a hunted bird that, at last, flies back into its nest.

     Thee I thank, who in those woeful, darkest days
     Didst kindle Hope Supreme with Thy receding Breath.
     Thee I thank, whose Arms of Light, in rest,
     Have strangled the approaching Death.