Were passion, pride and purity raw gold,
I'd wade in it, have fathoms to behold,
Were Beauty, grace and wisdom count in drams,
You'd sure as day surpass a million grams,
But metrics interfere with cosmic flow,
Of Love through which the grace of God doth go,
You comprehend it dreaming, to and fro.

Where charity and amity outweigh,
Propensity to stoke, kindle dismay,
The world be good and surely good be true,
And gladly more good for the life of you,
Which, like a sultry sun, emit the light,
Which doth the cauldron of passion fast ignite.

Glories be to thee my wanton babe,
Not dark could sully you, nor aeons, age,
Not Psalms, nor paeans could justice do to you,
Not fires of heaven compare to spark that brew,
Not all the fauna like the flower grew,
Of Peace, in you, a guiding passion true.