who puts creative sparks in every soul,
your words sustain like a cool water hole
in deserted places. The parchment scroll
alone is weak, empty, until you dole
living spirit to the one with the quill
who, in turn, is lifeless without the skill
thou giv’st to each according to your will.
O ye great muse, make me a Bezalel.
Thou source of all good, be pleased to ignite
the dry stick of my life. And then enlight
the dark places of my soul. And upright
the overturned in me, and turn to right
the crooked ways. Take my dry, broken pen
and use it and dance with it to open
the eyes that cannot see. And enlighten
the minds without thought, time and again.
The glory is thine and we have the joy
of worshipping thee as we ought. Employ
my words and mind to thy cause. And deploy
sacred help from above. Let me enjoy
thy enabling spirit. Make my mind free
to weave phrases and plots that honor thee,
and make all my words and pages agree
that thou and thou only hast the glory.
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