Saint Andrew of Scotland

Mine eyes were hard with horror; I walked on the heights
alone

And the winds were winged bulls walking, clashing their
wings of stone,

And the Lord was rolled in the thunder, like the Bible in the
plaid,

And for fear of the Feet above them, the stars went mad

On the seventh day from the seventh halted the earthquake
feet,

And they made an evil silence, a silence in the street.

And men walked damned or chosen, as it was with the world
begun,

For the Day, that awaited all men, for us was done.

Mother of mirth and pardon, of laughter and tears and truce,
Queen of the kind and careless knights that rode with the
heart of Bruce,

Does there not wait upon wisdom a last surprise?

Are we not weary of wisdom? Oh, make us wise!