As I the storms defy and madly leap
upon the screaming seas, upon thy face
what joy is writ! What roaring mountains steep
would I not dare to scale, harrowing race
would I not run for Love, wherein you find
your heart at rest, your strength, and mayhaps mine.
In Mary’s mantle safe, the waves yet grind
upon the spirit drunk on Love’s choice wine.
While yet we stand upon this tilting globe,
our hearts ablaze, our eyelids set to droop,
I choose my fears and follies to subdue.
Big brother, clinging e’er to Mama’s robe,
I swear this shall be true: that as you stoop
to carry me, I’ll rise to carry you.