Show me a quietly place in Your sun; Stretch out my lowly side in the soil. Massage my wincing coldness in rays Of blinding, reviving Yes-ness of hope; When sideways and downwards crawling I stand, When soon my backwards is close to Your side, Encircle me; rewrite Your name in my hand. Scratch out my dust places: make them Your sand. Let Your new-making warmness enfold and console me, While You tell to me places I have never seen, Of trees that enslaved You, of slaves that are free, While I, ever nothing, have nothing to give. At canyons and caverns, show me Your depths; Energise me for the leap I must take; In soaring, restoring flights of grace bounding, Swoop in me, pour me, in Your eternal Yes.