Like a master worker,
Like a little child,
I did all things while you yet lived
In abject nothingness, a thought.
While the Lord planted men
In cities, in wilderness,
In deserts and oceans where his
Fingerprints form in the sand,
Among clouds where they sometimes appear
As archipelagos of energy, and
Where their variety displays in the many barks of trees;
While he made eye and ear, mind and hand
To pull in signals also of his making,
Making them appear outside of godhead—I was there.
In your infirmity and in your death I will prevail,
Even over oblivion, for he who made me
Before anything was made,
Placed me between the Begetting
And Time, who followed,
And in a figure deigned to be born of me,
Has in pulling himself up raised all things,
Who chose by me to lift all from chaos,
And that there should rather be than not be. . . .
--Matthew R. Brown