Gratitude

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Gratitude

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #224

What strange power is Thine
Warding off all humanness like an amulet,
A signet occult and inscrutably divine
Borne upon my being like an aspect.

My familiar limbs of deliberate thought 
Are hobbled without a driving desire,
All my motives circle within the limit 
Set by the radius of my ardour.

My being is as an arrow blind
To the dispatching bow and its wielder,
My movement’s direction and speed 
Are solely at Thy discretion and pleasure.

Whether as clod or as a sun Thou deemest me,
As that in fullness of gratitude I dwell for Thee.