Psalm of the Resurrection of the Bones

Holy Tree of Spirit!
Behold the fruit of the Art of the Wise,
Ripened by the blood of the Verderer
Hanging heavy 'pon thy branches.
Behold now the Bones of the Green Art,
All scatter'd remains of wood-wise knowledge:
Fire-seed sown in love by the Children of Heaven,
Cast aside by the House of Adam,
Now become the curse-bread of Abel, dry dust of malediction.
This Corpse is thine, to embrace in love or shun.

Ride forth, Mighty Host of Josaphat,
'Neath the standard of the White Rose!
Ensorcell the Grand Arbour of Shemhazius,
Loose the mighty sound of trumpets
And bring forth from desert the green of Eternal Eden
In blessed convocation with the Sons and Daughters of Cain,
First Tiller of the Blessed Earth!
For Thine is the Garden,
And the teaching of each Angel and Tree.

Ye Dead Bones, rise up and ward
As a Crown of Living Throns.
O Ye Bones, rise up and give forth fragrance
As Roses from the Tombs of the Saint'd.
Ye Dead Bones, rise up and take flesh
As the Lost Name of God remember'd.
O Ye Bones, rise up and walk
Unto the Fruit of the Paradise of Seth.

Ye spirit-flames of the Blessed Hearth of Albion,
Give Light unto this, our Holy Prayer.
May the Flesh of the Viridarius arise
From the sepulchre of Midnight's Garden
And All Good Things proceed therefrom.