Master of the Light

By Jean Seifert

I praise thee when

Each pastel stroke of sunrise

Seems for me,

And every lustrous breeze

Ignites my soul

With glowing testament of thee.

But when my shoulders—

Burdened, bent to dust—

Refuse to lift,

Forget to trust,

I glory, Master

Artist of the Light,

That I can also find thee

In the night.