A Song of Sophia
There wére yet no óceans, but Í was his daúghter—
befóre ancient hílls was Í given bírth,
befóre every spríng burst aboúnding in wáter,
befóre he scáttered the dúst of the eárth.
The Lórd wove me ínto the wórld’s new foundátion,
the Lórd brought me fórth as the fírstborn of áll;
and, whíle he fáshioned, I dánced with elátion
as cháos found fórm in replý to his cáll.
Cóme now and heárken: I crý in the ópen,
whére the paths meét do Í take my stánd,
seéking the foólish, the wáyward, the bróken,
yeárning to táke every óne by the hánd.
My hoúse I have buílt, seven píllars uphóld it,
the táble is sét with a rích feast and wíne.
Come and wélcome! For hére you belóng, be then bóld: sit
besíde me, enjóying as yoúrs all that’s míne.
(check out my previous post for the background to this poem)
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