You ask of us fair linen, and that our hands
would tremble just a little as we set
the table for the Holy Mysteries.
You ask us to hold out those hands, and wait
for bread of heaven, for mercy not our own,
and to receive what we could never grasp.
You ask of us a patience and a care
we fear to take, a trust beyond ourselves,
a holiness that only you can give.
So in the silence of the love that springs
Where least expected but where most desired,
we touch with trembling hands the holy things;
And all of life is grace, and something sings.