My hours in a procession do pass
Like pilgrims to vow of silence given,
In each hour something sacred grows
Edging my soul closer to fruition.

My being is ripened to a subtlety,
In all I find His marvellous trail,
All forms now mask His infinity
To snare my heart in His spell.

Who knew my wayward heart 
Could one day Thee so behold,
Wert Thou hid within from start
As the tree from seed doth unfold?

Sweep my whole into Thy ambit now,
A little token for all to Thee I owe.