I
Waves knit over fish,
Combers like staves,
And the droves below,
Skittish or savage,
Are woven ornately
In silver and gold,
Figures and shapes
In the wool of the Lord,
Fish in the loom,
The seine of the word.
II
Now minnow and shark,
Whirring like stars,
Are a golden voice
Closing around us–
In pleasure, in sorrow,
The music is high;
Hear how we burn
In the sky of the Lord;
Masters, rejoice,
The world is his eye.
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