Father, our souls are heavy, pent in the shackles of flesh,
Fagged of our masters’ levy, snared in the Empire’s mesh;
Struggle we on or rearward, drift in the dull world’s tide,
Our steps are downward and fearward — Father in tears we bide!
Mithras! Out of the darkness
We cry for the dawning light;
Shatter our bonds in starkness
Of glory that banishes night!
Master, our lot is scorning, full is the measure thereof;
Thou art the Lord of Morning, God of all gods above!
Here by thy tapers’ burning plead we the soul’s release;
From out the fear and the yearning, bring us, O Lord to peace.
Mithras! Frauded of laughter
And broken and old, we raise,
O Light of here and hereafter!
Our paeans of prayer and of praise.
Saviour, our souls are homing, cleansed at thine altar fire
From the body’s passionate roaming and sickness of stayed desire;
Master, we leap to the purging, hearts with thy rapture full,
Under the scaffold surging to wash in blood of the bull.
Mithras! Fresh from the killing
New-born of the blood are we;
Unto thy law’s fulfilling
Summon our souls to thee!
(Burnett A. Ward)
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Based on Topics: God Poems, Night Poems, Light Poems, Soul Poems, War & Peace Poems, Fear Poems, Success Poems, Morning Poems, Prayers Poems, Fathers Poems, Praise PoemsBased on Keywords: rearward, paeans, purging, levy, starkness, banishes, fagged, mithras