O Mother
Published on September 21, 2017
O Mother
My mind can tire, and heart ache beyond measure
To earn a little merit to offer to Thee.
But vain are my toils and meagre the treasure
For Thee who makes all that makes up me.
Teach me O Mother, that language pure
Show sights that are forever true.
Anchor me to gestures that are never unsure
Only thought and feeling that to Thee dost move.
What can I do, what can I offer Thee
For all is Thine. Yet thou dost leave for me,
A perch to stand, for my self to see
A little of Thy expanse and a sliver of Thy mystery.