The Rest

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.

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Lasting Good

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.

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A Wooded Walk

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.”

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