Out of the light,
Into the night,
God, I am falling!
Fashioned of flame,
Spent with my shame,
God, I am calling!
All through the day
Sin has had sway —
Lost is the token;
Evening brings
Hurt of my wings,
Blackened and broken.
Child of a star,
Thine avatar,
Drunk from the revel;
Who am I, God,—
Spirit or clod,
Angel or devil?
Yet Thou hast made
Me Thy sword-blade —
Sheathed, that its brightness
Flash up to win,
When the last sin
Burns into whiteness.
Hand that can smite,
Hold the hilt tight,
Draw, and strike faster!
Strike with me, Lord!
My soul Thy sword,
And Thou its Master.
Strike! till the day
Grow from the gray
Gloom of the peril;
And in the skies
Dream-domes arise —
Jacinth and beryl!