Whilst researching daily prayer for the feast day of Nicholas Ferrar I came across this poem by the multitalented Anglican priest, Malcolm Guite. It is, as T. S. would say, satisfactory.
"A Sonnet For Nicholas Ferrar Of Little Gidding, On His Feast Day"
You died the hour you used to rise for prayer.
In that rich hush beneath all other sounds,
you rose at one and took the midnight air
rising and falling on the wings and rounds
of psalms and silence. The December stars
shine clear above the Giddings, promised light
for those who dwell in darkness. Morning stirs
the household. From the folds of sleep, the late
risers wake to find you gone, and pray
through pain and grief to bless your journey home;
those last glad steps in the right good old way
up to the door where Love will bid you welcome.
Love draws us too, towards your grave and haven.
We greet you at the very gate of Heaven.