HERE IS THY footstool and there rest thy feet where live the poorest, and lowliest, and lost.
When I try to bow to thee, my obeisance cannot reacb down to the depth where thy feet rest among the poorest, and lowliest, and lost.
Pride can never approach to where thou walkest in the clothes of the humble among the poorest, and lowliest, and lost.
My heart can never find its way to where thou keepest company with the companionless among the poorest, the lowliest, and the lost.

HOLD THY FAITH firm, my heart, the day will dawn.
The seed of promise is deep in the soil, it will sprout.
Sleep, like a bud, will open its heart to the light, and the silence will find its voice.
The day is near when thy burden will become thy gift, and thy sufferings will light up thy path.

THE POET'S MIND floats and dances on the waves of life amidst the voices of wind and water.
Now when the sun has set and the darkened sky draws down upon the
sea like drooping lashes upon a weary eye it is time to take away his pen, and let his thoughts sink into the bottom of the deep amid the eternal secret of that silence.