Divine Order

From riches, saints flee to the wilderness;
 While the world chains sordid preservation,
 Satan grins with his own presentation.
Alone they cry and bare their nakedness
To Thee, O God, to thee—and not one less.
 With wills that strip the world’s false creation,
 They embrace Christ and defeat damnation.
He takes their beauty and prepares a dress.

In an order the saint is clothed anew,
 Perpetuating fruitful tradition;
  Body and soul are the Almighty’s tool.
In time, other souls are like-tempered true.
 Pure nature is a captured reflection—
  The soul’s fire is a delicate jewel.