Now, I’ll never tear the skies asunder,
Nor disperse the morning fog with sun:
My chance to snatch the age’s transient glamour
Lost, which once I thought I might’ve won.
The songs that all could sing came not to me.
Answers to questions I could plainly see
Did not align with the prevailing view –
And so, tho truth for me, they were not ‘true’.

Yet you, O Lord, are like a harbour wall
Protecting my poor craft from oceanic
Storms, anchoring its heart by silken ropes
That hold me when the violent tidal swell
Sinks other vessels with a deft satanic
Ease; while I mount high on waves of hope.