The Work For Which We Came

I thought I might a singer be

And voice my heart's felicity

But an unknown divinity

Caught my song in a golden jar

And held it close while I grew far

When bright horizons called to me.

Perhaps I would a writer be,

Explore the ultimate mystery

In words through which the mind might see

What thought unable to perceive

Or from imagination weave,

The drama of eternity.

Now I have found the inner sun

And all my life is new-begun

In presence of the silent one

Who sings of the infinity

Of love surrendered unto Thee

When the work for which we came is done.