Holy, Holy, Holy

Lord, You are neither male
nor female in the limited terms in which
Your human creatures can think,
but the effect of Your Being
is akin to magnificent,
sheltering wings.
You provide shade and
shadow against life’s
blistering summer heat,
and at the first signs
of cold, Your wings enfold
into walls of comfort
against suffering. Your wings
are safe refuge for Your
creatures against storms
and terrors of the night, and against
anxieties which afflict their
sanity all efforts despite. How
good You are, Lord! How
generous and unyielding the
availability of Your
mercies! How so forgiving,
even to Adam and
Eve, who ignored Your
Garden of Eden warnings!
There is naught but
calmness in the Kingdom
beneath Your wings,
where supplicants can lie
at rest, lulled by the Sanctus in
angelic praise of Your
Love and Beauty.