O God, let intellect be held
constrained, that I might simply sense
the depth, and mystery, of love
within this present tense.
As music sets the air aflame,
as sense is dumb and flesh retires
God, reach within my heart again
and fan those hidden fires.
As hands reach out to grasp the grace
that bread and wine should mediate,
reach back through hands that you would choose:
disclose, communicate.
Then held at once in paradox,
remembering in present time,
unite again this human flesh
with sacred love divine.
Andrew E Pratt (born 1948)
© 2003 Stainer & Bell Ltd
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