You cannot grasp it with your hand,
yet in your heart, it makes its stand.
It comes like lightning through the night,
then lingers quietly in your sight.
When weak, it lets in seeds of doubt;
when strong, it turns the battle out.
For it, so many met their end;
for it, the Saints began to ascend.
It lifts the poor in deep despair,
and haunts the rich with empty care.
On your last day, it holds you tight;
was it all worth the steadfast fight?
Only if we wake once more,
will we know what faith was for.