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Is all we've been, every whim,
only to see and be seen by Him?
Is every mountain we have climbed
a show upon the stage Divine?

One day, perhaps we all shall face
He who gave us pride of place.
Climb the lattice and see beyond
ghosts, and rooms, and distant space.

Then perhaps we shall know
why the light within us glows;
and when it dies, where it goes.
What doth the needle's eye behold?

To what, do distant marbles owe?
Be they yet another cage?
and by whom does the latch engage?
Do Redbreasts spark a sprightly row?

Occasionally, by and by
I turn my gaze to night and sky
Is all that we have known so long,
a loving Father's peaceful lie?

Then I return to our estate
and find here those I hold most dear.
I lose my will to contemplate.
I trust the hand that holds my fate.

I trust the hand that holds my fate.

— The End —