Quill in hand, I humbly write,
In search of God’s great truth and light,
For in the midst of this dark night,
My soul prepares to soon take flight.
And though I search the darkest caves
Where souls have seldom been,
My God ignites a spark within
Which lets my path be seen.
And deeper will I journey
Till I find an ounce of gold
In a word or in a sentence
Written in a style of old.
And I’ll yet set my quill to work
In search of a deeper vein,
That could free a certain wise man,
Or could make a fool insane.
“Have courage, son,” my God now speaks,
“For man knowns not which aims he seeks,
And lest thou be now tied to me,
Ye’ll never, from the darkness, flee.”
At last! I’ve found my holy vein!
A rich man I’ve become!
And not a shov’l I’ve lifted,
Nor an axe, and nor a gun!
So guide me, God, that I may know
The paths where thou wouldst have me go,
And the aims that thou wouldst have me seek,
And the place from which thy golden rivers flow.