A
ruby dart sails, it sears my palm
I
feel the surge of glory and bliss.
Larks
waltz with doves to kiss my brow
the
mystic gate parts; all holy seals melt
so
halos may rise and paths shine true.
Hark
a horn blasts! Hail riders in white!
O
come dear prize! Call magic to blaze
for
arid, grey souls whose hopes are dross.