@The Anointed,
THE SCRIBE’S PRAYER by Robert Service
When from my fumbling hand the tired pen falls,
And in the twilight weary droops my head;
While to my quite heart a still voice calls,
Calls me to join my kindred of the dead;
Grant that I may’ O Lord, ere rest be mine,
Write to Thy praise one radiant, ringing line
For all of worth that in this clay abides,
The leaping rapture and the ardent flame,
The hope, the high resolve, the faith that guides:
All, all is thine, and liveth in Thy Name
Lord, have I dallied with the sacred fire!
Lord, have I trailed Thy glory in the mire!
E’en as a toper from the dram shop reeling,
Sees in his garret’s blackness, dazzling fair’
All that he might have been, and heart sick, kneeling
Sobs in the passion of a vast despair
So my ideal self haunts me alway—
When the accounting comes, how shall I pay?
For in the dark I grope, nor understand;
And in my heart fight selfishness and sin:
Yet, Lord, I do not seek Thy helping hand;
Rather let me my own salvation win:
Let me through strife and penitential pain
Onward and upward to the heights attain
Yea, let me live my life, it’s meaning seek;
Bear myself fitly in the ringing fight;
Strive to be strong that I may aid the weak;
Dare to be true—O God! The light, the light!
Cometh the dark so soon. I’ve mocked Thy Word;
Yet do I know Thy love; HAVE MERCY, Lord….. The wonderful Robert Service