The Exchange between lover and beloved
            As soft as the whispering of a poem into the ear of a windy night
            As often as rain drops falling in the midst of the storm
            In the midst of this familiarity, this routine, this gentleness, this whisper
                        there is a transaction of love that can be missed
            Or dismissed in the hustle and bustle of cars and ruminations
            As they travel back and forth,
            Quickly passing from place into space, and back again
But in the shared gaze of the believer with the believed
            There is a communication which is the height of what it means to be
human
            He looks at me from the throne of infinity
            And I respond, Amen to his Divinity
            And my response becomes a song in which I sing:
O Sacrament Most Holy, O Sacrament Divine
All praise and thanksgiving be every moment thine,
The Exchange between lover and beloved,
            It can be forgotten in the monuments of trade
            Through which minds strain forward and daily wade
            In a frenzied attempt to grasp and control,
Better to rule in hell than to serve in heaven,
            The scattered actions of a society busy with itself tend to speak
            Division, multiplicity, confusion, pleasure
            But to those who seek,
            there is manna and treasure buried deep within the heart,
            There is a longing for that exchange
            Which to the outside world seems strange
            And strangely impossible,
            Not to mention improbable
            But yet, we believe,
            And in believing sing:
O Sacrament Most Holy, O Sacrament Divine
All praise and all thanksgiving be every moment thine,
The Exchange between lover and beloved
            quickly discarded by a heart set on things below
            A heart that bestows greater significance to the details
            And loses the picture
            And love for things and creatures become the features
            Of a devotion gone terribly wrong and empty
Instead, to join my love to the Godhead
            Present in bread that has become his body
            Upon which I am daily fed
            And instead of the vain delights and misguided flights
            Of earthly fancies
            I choose a vision that is greater than sight
            That I might truly see
            And in seeing Him be truly free
            For he lies there upon the altar in mystery
            Established within history
            And the working of hands,
            I come to understand more when I conquer less
            But rather am conquered,
            sought after and consumed by He whom I love
            And so I sing:
O Sacrament Most Holy, O Sacrament Divine
All praise and all thanksgiving be every moment thine,