I stood alone upon the mountain peak. Why did I climb so high, what did I seek? Then I went home and counted out my dead And on the welcoming pillow lay my head.
I woke in morning light, my saving grace, And on a whitewashed wall my soul could trace The forgotten years of birth and death I knew. I counted my blessings although they were few
Yet precious to me for in my sight there came The one we label God, the Lord, the Name Who spoke to me so softly and benign Of a new world of which we are the sign
Of transformation to a higher kind. “This you must become, this you must find.”
Poems Undated (1727)
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