by Patience Worth
Am I a slave upon a dun-dust path,
Weighted sore, bourne low of Sorrow's plying?
Set on my way by One who hath forsook
And knoweth not the weary toiling?
Doth the pathway lead me ever on,
To sag at last of weariness?
Or doth yon rim of earth's line
End the way and leave me then in lands
Of nothingness, wherein I dance as dusts
And know not e'en the roadway
That hath led me hence? Am I a slave?
Am I a noble, on a pathway set,
Whereon these hands may pluck the gems
To deck me o'er? Doth this path then
Lead on, and out the dusts that blind,
To some sweet morrow, where, on blued skies
Songs float wove of laughter's beauteous strands?
Doth He who set me on this path
Follow ever, yea, and leave the shadow
Of His robe to cool me with its shade?
Doth His blade, here within my hand,
Fall short its fending, when 'tis sped
That I lay low the thing I seek?
Or doth it flash and write in flaming glint
The word that meaneth Him; yea, carve
From out Earth's stony breast the song,
Clothed with a mantle wove by hands
Of passing ages, whose sweet notes
Have echoed o'er Earth's breast-
Ah, ever, ever-one singing word;
GOD, mine own?
Am I a noble then with such a Sire,
Last updated January 14, 2019