In mourning, in grieving,
we wear ashes on our brows –
for what in our lives is worthy?
for what in our lives is just?
We march forward without moving
and strive without doing
and search without seeing.
All is vanity.
Blinded by false wisdom, we grope
with hands bound by the ghost of mammon.
The Lord only knows how we may escape.
Spiritus, move me.
Impetus, work in me.
Sapientia, be my sight.