For Our Consummate Passover

the sacrament is loosed; 
the trays go as a fleet of grace 
into our garnered sea 
of lap and hand, 
and this envoy, 
this ark of my covenant 
lilts over me: a gentle craft
riddled with remembrance 
whereby I acknowledge 
that the sheep of myself 
does keep memory of thee: 
my pascal Lamb. 

my Savior, my Passover, 
oh! my slaughtered Lord 
who made investment 
of the blood and spilled thyself
upon the lintels, upon the doorposts
of my heart: who is it 
can withstand thy love?