The Scout

---

The Scout

Poem — An Invocation to The Master #184

I am the scout the past had made
To reconnaissance the future,
By all their lives they had strived
To gain for me each living year.

All the gods they worshipped are
Now guardians who guard my back,
The enemy unseen, the silent danger,
Can never surreptitiously attack.

My haggard frame is dear to them
As a toddler of stumbling speech,
Mine errors are to them a charm 
And my barrenness utterly rich.

What fear to I who am thus adorned
By the dateless past beyond measure,
For all that ever lived has bestowed
Upon me this glorious treasure.

I look around and constantly see
The very same fire in my bosom
Reside in all who appear to me,
All seen in waking and not dream.

A life or hundred or since start of time
Have I followed stumblingly Thy will,
All I adore, Thy will and Thy whim,
For yet they lead to Thy feet still.

For Thee ventured this soul of me
Into this dream of Thine O Eternity.