Wednesday, 16 September 2009


Yet in experience the Rock can be
A stumbling block; too high for me
I appears to observe and mock my attempts
To scale it: I knock my head against
A flinty cliff; I cannot unlock
Or smite out of it water, oil or honey.

I stumble at the foot of the crag ‑
Enervated, unable to drag my body
From the earth. On crumbling slag I stand
But with any effort I flag; no
Way appears. Into my grazed flesh
Harsh outcrops jag their sharpness.

My desire is directed upward; my soul
Burns like a fire if I weakly
Decline or retire. How make headway
To heights I aspire to? My body
Languishes, muscles ache, arms
Tire, for my flesh outweighs me.

As for my feet, treading miry clay
He set them on a Rock, and He
Established my goings; I called
And he led me to Rock which is higher
Than I; and in the day of evil He
Will set me high upon a Rock.
For who is a Rock if not our God
Who makes my feet like hinds' feet
And sets me on my high places.
Gracefulness and agility superseding
My natural sloth and lowness I
Walk and leap and praise God.

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I'm glad to hear how this strikes you!