Hathor, of gold and gentle flame,
Mistress of joy, of song, of sight,
Your sistrum sings the heart awake,
And sorrow loosens in your light.
You pour the wine that sweetens night,
You soothe the soul, you heal its shame—
Hathor, of gold and gentle flame.
In sycamore’s eternal shade,
You cradle love in moon-soft hands,
Where dancers move and prayers are made,
And mercy walks the desert sands.
All breath, all beauty, you reclaim—
Hathor, of gold and gentle flame.
This reads like a true devotional hymn—soft, radiant, and full of grace. The repetition feels like a heartbeat or a prayer, and the imagery of Hathor beneath the sycamore is so tender and luminous. You capture joy and mercy in a way that feels both ancient and intimate. Absolutely beautiful.