My high hills have heaved into mountains!
They’re muscling and bunching with glory
and streaming my Star-Ribbon story.
Hills of want, hills of pining and yearning
were worn down by storm torrents and winds,
became mounds, became cairns to lost futures
for this poor girl born so out of time
and so life-lorn and null in her place.
But up! They have been drawn, been pushed,
been called clarion and clear, brassy-broad,
with fresh timeless bright voice, they have answered,
and begun to grow high right before me,
in my solemn amazed wide eyed presence.
And my heart dares to become a mountain!
Thrusting boldly through stained steely clouds,
into blaze, into dithery-dazzle,
into light and life, cold and warm sun,
and they thrive midst glad gales of good Portent!
Noble sigils and icons of trust,
And I let my glad self stand and live!
Thus I sing to the Dwellers in Shinar
lift your heads, lift your eyes, lift your hearts
Take you hope, take ye courage and comfort,
Grace and Peace be your portion,