One hundred days adrift in seas of night While clouds of darkness hover over me, Have I a pilgrim stumbling towards the light Through loss descended into entropy?
All round me seems unreal, illusion's mask, The centre is estranged, a hollow place, And effort towards the goal a hopeless task For one who can no longer feel the Grace
Or see the smile that broke the nether grip Of forces that could work with one their will, Awaiting their chance, the inner guard might slip, Then on the soil of nescience cruelly spill
The sacramental wine of offering, Or cast the spirit down in pits of mire. O loss that beauty bear this final sting Of death and body be consumed by fire.
I know that hands unseen, unfelt, uplift And through these trials the soul ascending higher Shall realize in time Their priceless gift, In gratitude fulfil the heart's desire.
Poems Undated (1727)
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