I face the rising sun,
And pray, “Thy will be done.”
‘Tis not for sloth or lack of care
That has me ending my prayer there.
Rather, I trust You are good.
All my life I’ve understood
That if You’re goodness proves as true,
Then I can leave all things to You,
Surrendering my need to grasp,
Or to my sense of power clasp.
With my eyes down, I’ll do my best,
And leave in Your good hands the rest.
What we feel will change in time,
Yet this takes place of the Sublime.
Each consolation passing by,
We follow, seeking our next high.
‘Tis no wonder, then, that we
Can hardly grasp fidelity.
Whether God or Love or Passion,
All in some degree or fashion,
Matter based on what we feel.
When we’re not high, it isn’t real.
Perhaps what we must do instead
is face the truth we’ve come to dread.
No hit is lasting; highs are cheap;
No lasting treasure will we reap
Should we keep up our fevered pace
All passing pleasure to replace.
God is not when thing go “right,”
Or when we fall for tune and light.
Love is not emotion sweet,
Abandoned when our stores deplete.
Passion is not mere elation,
A fleeting, short infatuation.
Unless these things survive our mood,
I fear we’ll have no lasting good.
Trail’s unwinding
And I’m finding
I have need of such reminding.
I oft forget
To come reset
Away from ev’ry civil net.
But here, I’m free
To fin’lly see
In Nature, there’s divinity.
For if we take
A solemn break
From all the progress “we should make,”
I think we’ll find
Our peace of mind.
Our worth is separate from “the grind.”
When we take the Bread and Cup,
Ev’ry pretense given up,
Holes appear in every wall
Preventing us from loving all.
For with the Blood and with the Flesh
Our souls are not only refreshed
But bound so that we may be One.
With God and people, like the Son.
