Robert Fulton Laird

Oh Lord

Oh Lord how doth thou make
from such a wretched shell
such beauty through this pen
from in my heart
an endless well

What doth thou want from me
a soul surrendered full
fulfill thy wrath
relieve me from
this treacherous
push and pull

For I long to be a flower
so patient and assured
from seed, to bloom, till wilt away
with no need to be cured

But, if thyne path is perfect
and fitting all along
and well worth all this toil, Lord
then make it ten times long