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.