Go down, sweet Moses, / Your burdens are weighing you down.
You’ve borne enmity like a slave: / your past days suppliant, your diurnal turns craven, your Amens bleating, / stern, and uncowed.
For how now, gentle Moses? / You, who were offered one sturdy plank, / yet held fast to the rotten. / You, to whom love flowed like spring, / yet partook not, / to whom deliverance would have come / Had you only but nodded. / Instead, you denied and clenched and knotted.
But come now, dear Moses, / For too long the ignorance, the delusion, the deception; / for too long the resentment, the frustration, and despair. / For too long the nights.
For have you not heard, O gentle Moses, / of the reed and the wind, / of the merciful father and his robbéd son, / and of the broken nations healed by laughter? / And have you not felt, my dear son Moses, the breadth of the lightness of the question?
O go down, sweet Moses, / Your burdens are weighing you down.