“Now I begin to pray: Thou Child,
holy Thy name and undefiled!
Thy reign is come: Thy will is done.
Here is the Bread; here is the Blood.
Bring me through midnight to the Sun!
Save me from Evil and from Good!
That Thy one crown of all the Ten.
Even now and here be mine. AMEN.” [via]
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- “Then I perceived the stars to reflect a single sun– Not burning suns themselves, in furious regular race, But mirrors of midnight, lit to remind us of His face. Thus I beheld the truth: ye are stars that give me light; But I read you aright and learn I am walking in the night. Then I turned mine eyes away to the Light that is above you: The answering splendid Dawn arose, and I did not love you. I saw the breaking light, and the clouds fled far away: I was the resurrection of the Golden Star of Day. And now I live in Him; my heart may trace the years In drops of virginal blood and springs of virginal tears.”
- “WITH this our ‘Christian’ parents marred our youth: ‘One thing is certain of our origin. We are born Adam’s bastards into sin, Servants to Death and Time’s devouring tooth. God, damning most, had this one thought of ruth To save some dozens–Us: and by the skin Of teeth to save us from the devil’s gin– Repentance! Blood! Prayer! Sackcloth! This is truth.'”
- “In the Fable of Adam and Eve is this great Lesson taught by the Masters of the Holy Qabalah. For Love were to them the eternal Eden, save for the Repression signified by the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Thus their Nature of Love was perfect; it was their Fall from that Innocence which drove them from the Garden.”
- “What meets mine ear, That every nerve and bone of me cries halt? What is this cold that nips me at the throat? This shiver in my blood? this icy note Of awe within my agonising brain? Neither of shame, nor love, nor fear, nor pain, Nor anything? Has love no antidote, Courage no buckler? Hark! it comes again. Friend, hast thou heard the wailing of the damned? Friend, hast thou listened when a murderer shammed Pale smiles amid his fellows as they spoke Low of his crime: his fear is like to choke His palsied throat. How, if Hell’s gate were slammed This very hour upon thy womanfolk? Conceive, I charge thee! Brace thy spirit up To drink at that imagination’s cup! Then, shriek, and pass! For thou shalt understand A little of the pressure of the hand That crushed me now.”
- “In that desire their hands are strained and wrung; In that most infinite passion beats the blood, And bursting chants of amorous agony flung To the void Hell, are lost, not understood, Unheard by evil or good.”