I set to write a poem here,
To fill with measured, metered lines
The blank horizon of a page
That's unsubmissive to my mind.
I have no Muses to invoke
To aid me in this toilsome task,
To grant my pen effulgent wings,
Like Hermes' shoes, if I but ask.
The gods of old are silent now,
And truth be told, they never spoke;
The genius of the poet blind
Alone was needed to invoke.
He took his gift, God-given grace,
To speak, to write, in words like gold
That turned themselves to miracles
In hearing of those men of old.
Yet I've one Spirit to invoke,
Thrice-holy and immortal, He--
But does He deign to bless with grace
Such rank and dogg'rel lines as these?
No gift like Homer's bear I here,
But I've a blessing more than he:
I know my Muse, and He knows me,
In word and breath, eternally.
A Note to My Readers -
I've decided to remove my Sunday posts from the weekly cycle. Although I hope they've been of benefit to some of you, they are necessarily secondary to my regular work of sermon preparation each week. I've found that having that extra post to write simply added to the burden of my work. For those readers who would still like access to my weekly work in Scriptural exposition, I would ask them to access the podcasts of my sermons (available through a link in the sidebar), since that remains the primary form of my Bible teaching each week.