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Sunday, September 6, 2015

The 7 Days of CryAction

Torquato Tasso
IL MONDO CREATO
(1592)

Songday 1

by Selkis, The Magic Trio




Father! and Fathers
co-eternal non-created Son
the sole Brain-child
Image identical to your
Pattern, Light out of Light!
and You brilliant breath
of Both, twin-light Spirit
sacred lamp and flame
shining river out of its spring
[10] true of true Image
Prime Pattern’s equality
say—and tripled Sun
lighting souls and intellects
holy Gift holy envoy holy knot
linking the three Persons!
Un-solitary God unifying
the then scattered Whole
focus of God’s thought
Love of his own Rta.
[20] Come from Father-Son,
inhabit my heart, the Two’s
grace bring, inspire my senses,
make me sing the master-piece
by You, down from You
going so gorgeously:
this world woven by You
in six days! Teach this,
You who synthesize space
and the rotating maze
[30] of ever-turning time.
Fire-forged by You, I’ll
sing the seventh day too,
sweet rest where You give
not only light and delight
but after brief trouble
safe crowns on high, heavenly
triumph. In the mean time
may this “rest”—in tears and anger—
that makes me old, makes me cry
[40] look like that, to which
well grounded hope calls us
attracting the heart with glory.
Remind me of the reasons
of katabolé, You first cause
of creation already ante
the fast unfastened aeons;
what moved the Unmoved
Mover to a wonderful work
then novel out there, now old,
[50] holding the whole in its womb,
following those first laws,
gleaming with light and gold,
with many shades and shapes
painstakingly painted.
Tell me what work or rest
was in the noble Nous
in that happy eternity;
in what unknown Concept
You smith saw a pattern
[60] for your throne and temple.
You know: speak! Make
your art accessible to me.
LORD, I am the lyre that,
moved by you, melodiously
sounds and sweetens
the hearts of hard Adam(as).
O Spirit, here’s a hoarse
trumpet for your triumph
if You don’t divinize it.
[70] Magnify your marvels thru me,
LORDa great song of grace,
to be heard by the Tiber
and Sebeto Arno the royal Po
Mincius Brembo Rhine Danube
and the noisy Nile;
may the deaf-cos-of-sin
be awakened by the hymn.
Before barà Elohim
no powers produced
[80] warring the world.
Nor did silent, solitary
the Father haunt the dark
but with Son and Spirit
He sat in himself
king of conceived worlds:
thought as a work within.
Needed no military
nor theater to his glory
that shows ’n’ hides Him.
[90] But nobody knows
no man’s mind comprehends
how out of Himself He
laid Logos, and the pattern
of progeny, the puzzling birth
of his Son whom He makes
majestically his peer.

(to be continued on Sept. 13)