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.