I need a circus man

Though steel, still beating my heart, passing from stone to ice.
Cold gripping the flow of life from my veins, all that remains from the sweet waters edge.
Dredged from the mud beneath what seemed wet and so clear.
Holding dear to the hope of one still untouched.
Unreached and searching too for one to entrust all the dreams and the truths.
Worn and maybe bruised, but not damaged beyond repair.
Complementary patterns and passions and obsessions. 
Redefining life walked as one and as two or possibly five.
Alive and still breathing, not just air, but fire.

...still be my vision, O Ruler of All

"Be thou my vision, O Lord of my heart,

naught be all else to me, save that thou art;

Thou my best thought by day or by night,

Waking or sleeping, thy presence my light.

Be thou my wisdom, thou my true word,

I ever with thee and thou with me Lord;

Thou my great Father, I thy true son;

Thou in me dwelling, and I with thee one.

Be thou my battle shield, sword for the fight;

Be thou my dignity, thou my delight;

Thou my soul's shelter, thou my high tower:

Raise thou me heavenward, O Power of my power.

Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise:

Thou mine inheritance now and always;

Thou and thou only first in my heart;

High King of Heaven, my treasure thou art.

High King of heaven, my victory won,

May I reach heaven's joys, O Bright Heaven's sun!;

Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,

Still be my vision, O Ruler of all."

- English Versification by Eleanor Hull 1912

Heart of my own heart, whatever befall...

"Rop tú mo baile, a Choimdiu cride:

ní ní nech aile acht Rí secht nime.

Rop tú mo scrútain i l-ló 's i n-aidche;

rop tú ad-chëar im chotlud caidche.

Rop tú mo labra, rop tú mo thuicsiu;

rop tussu dam-sa, rob misse duit-siu.

Rop tussu m'athair, rob mé do mac-su;

rop tussu lem-sa, rob misse lat-su.

Rop tú mo chathscíath, rop tú mo chlaideb;

rop tussu m'ordan, rop tussu m'airer.

Rop tú mo dítiu, rop tú mo daingen;

rop tú nom-thocba i n-áentaid n-aingel.

Rop tú cech maithius dom churp, dom anmain;

rop tú mo flaithius i n-nim 's i talmain.

Rop tussu t' áenur sainserc mo chride;

ní rop nech aile acht Airdrí nime.

Co talla forum, ré n-dul it láma,

mo chuit, mo chotlud, ar méit do gráda.

Rop tussu t' áenur m' urrann úais amra:

ní chuinngim daíne ná maíne marba.

Rop amlaid dínsiur cech sel, cech sáegul,

mar marb oc brénad, ar t' fégad t' áenur.

Do serc im anmain, do grád im chride,

tabair dam amlaid, a Rí secht nime.

Tabair dam amlaid, a Rí secht nime,

do serc im anmain, do grád im chride.

Go Ríg na n-uile rís íar m-búaid léire;

ro béo i flaith nime i n-gile gréine

A Athair inmain, cluinte mo núall-sa:

mithig (mo-núarán!) lasin trúagán trúag-sa.

A Chríst mo chride, cip ed dom-aire,

a Flaith na n-uile, rop tú mo baile."

"Be thou my vision O Lord of my heart

None other is aught but the King of the seven heavens.

Be thou my meditation by day and night.

May it be thou that I behold even in my sleep.

Be thou my speech, be thou my understanding.

Be thou with me, be I with thee

Be thou my father, be I thy son.

Mayst thou be mine, may I be thine.

Be thou my battle-shield, be thou my sword.

Be thou my dignity, be thou my delight.

Be thou my shelter, be thou my stronghold.

Mayst thou raise me up to the company of the angels.

Be thou every good to my body and soul.

Be thou my kingdom in heaven and on earth.

Be thou solely chief love of my heart.

Let there be none other, O high King of Heaven.

Till I am able to pass into thy hands,

My treasure, my beloved through the greatness of thy love

Be thou alone my noble and wondrous estate.

I seek not men nor lifeless wealth.

Be thou the constant guardian of every possession and every life.

For our corrupt desires are dead at the mere sight of thee.

Thy love in my soul and in my heart --

Grant this to me, O King of the seven heavens.

O King of the seven heavens grant me this --

Thy love to be in my heart and in my soul.

With the King of all, with him after victory won by piety,

May I be in the kingdom of heaven O brightness of the son.

Beloved Father, hear, hear my lamentations.

Timely is the cry of woe of this miserable wretch.

O heart of my heart, whatever befall me,

O ruler of all, be thou my vision."

- Original texts of the now-called Be Thou My Vision in Old Irish; English translation by Mary Byrne in 1905