The Languid Soul

The languid soul
Breeds diffidence; as surely,
As the decaying oak
Engenders fungus.
In this condition:
Of depressed vitality;
The seeds of challenge,
Which the resolute soul,
In full vigour of the Lord,
Would easily shake off;
Are now fatal.

Raise thy temperature,
My Beloved.
To slay the infestation;
Draw thyself near
Unto the Consuming Fire
Of the Father of Lights:
For a warmer timbor, flowing
Into the life of thy soul,
Will alter the climate
Which dubiety requires
To foster its growth.

For unbelief spreads,
As a glazen frost,
Laying heavily thereof,
Across the meadowland
Of thy soul.
Yet, as the warmer days
Begin to settle in;
The ice must retreat,
And flee a land
No longer suited
For its existence.

Then shall thy heart
Be given a new song;
As in the night,
When holy solemnity is kept;
And the joy of life,
As when one goeth,
With tambor in hand,
To come up unto
The Holy Mountain
Of the Lord,
To rejoice in thy salvation.