Collect for Purity
I try to form prayer’s capital word On my tongue. O sweet imagination Give it shape enough! Love! Love should taste of something, The sea, I think, brined and unsteady, Of scale and deep and all we crawled out from. Of first day, the Spirit’s début, The frantic dove torn apart, Her feathers ash on Eden. Yet of that which we cannot speak We must pass over in silence – Selah! The Spirit itself maketh intercession for us With groanings Which cannot be uttered.
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