I wish that I could write a symphony,

Sing hymns dactylic, lyrical, sublime,

Or gift the earth with peace, and in our time

To cure the world its hate and old ennui.

How chuff to roam the moon, or Everest scale,

To guide the States united, absent fear,

Where mercy’s warm embrace annuls our tears

With justice neither purchased nor for sale.

But if, alas, my wishing came to be,

And all my aspirations found their aim,

Dimly my true vocation’s path I’d see,

Myopic in my fanning of a flame

Not kindled by my Maker, to be me

Best shines His glory, hallowing His Name.