Prayer, from Hymn of the Universe, by Teilhard de Chardin

Glorious Lord Christ:

The divine influence secretly diffused and active

in the depths of matter,

And the dazzling center where all the innumerable fibres

of the manifold meet;

Power as implacable as the world and as warm as life;

You whose forehead is of the witness of snow,

Whose eyes are of fire,

and whose feet are brighter than molten gold;

You whose hands imprison the stars;

You who are the first and the last,

The living and the dead and the risen again;

You who gather into your exuberant unity every mode

of existence;

It is you to whom my being cries out with a desire

as vast as the universe:

In truth you are my Lord and my God.

View print-friendly version View print-friendly version

2 Comments

  1. Kay Jackson on February 6, 2024 at 5:42 am

    I never noticed Teilhard’s use of the word “imprison”. To imprison is to, ” jail, incarcerate, detain, or intern”. Synonyms include such words as,”restrain, confine, restrict” . The word origin is Old French and Middle English from “emo ‘in’ + prison.
    This is confusing! My understanding is that Teilhard found Light among all life. A Christ so expansive and energetic that life sprang into action and hasn’t stopped creating, exploring and evolving.
    The language herein is frightening. I come away not feeling love but seeing the ” old Guy in the sky “.

    • Stephen T Berg on April 19, 2024 at 10:34 am

      I read this “imprisonment” only in the sense of “exuberant unity.”

Leave a Comment





icon-light-1

Related Posts

St. Teresa of Avila

Christ has no body now but yours, no hands, no feet on Earth but yours. Yours are the only eyes with which his compassion can still look out on a…

Meditation by St. Symeon the New Theologian

We awaken in Christ’s body as Christ awakens our bodies, and my poor hand is Christ.  He enters my foot, and is infinitely me. I move my hand, and wonderfully…

This is You, by Francisco Burgos

My stillness in turbulent timesmy loaf of breadmy warm beverage on cold morningsmy shelter and dry towel. The sustaining physics behind my clay vesselthe note that defines my musicmy Gabriel’s…