O Burning Fire, O Boiling Rage,
in these days of sin there are none
who dare whisper your name or draw close
to the intensity of your righteousness.
We have sworn to you our love but
you have found us disloyal — too easily
swayed by the passions of worldly powers,
too easily forgiving of our own efforts.
When at last you let loose your rage
and this life ends, when the stars finally fall,
when you tear through the heavens to shatter our idols,
will you remember us in love despite our iniquities?
Will you remember us now:
comfort our grief and cool our warring,
save us from the disregard of the rich and feed us
with prophecies rather than tears?
Will you remember your mercy
and have pity for us in this quickly fading life,
will you call us by name and bless our bones with breath?
Will you claim us and make good of us?
O Burning Fire, O Boiling Rage,
when at last this life ends, we pray foolishly
that your face will shine and your glory will consume us.
For all these things, we wait with wild hope.