To the sailor you give sea, to the blind you give
          the boundless dark;
you lead the stranger home to the heart
          of his estrangement,
                       O Lord, our merciful God.

          With wine you sweeten the tongues
of those who sleep in dust,
with mountains inspire the weary
to climb exhaustion’s peak,
                      O mighty King.

Who can measure your craft?
Between the living and dead
          you shuttle, weaving
a fabric of light, tirelessly weaving,
                     O Lord, Mother of light.