I rose upon the wings of thought,
In flights of fancy roved, and soared above
The sordid world; the Truth I sought
Seemed hidden, and I vainly strove
To solve the mystery, prayed for light
To penetrate this endless night.
I searched for God both far and near,
And yet in utter darkness groped;
My eyes were holden still with fear;
I staggered, Lord, for I had hoped
To find in Thee some trace of self,
Some worldly gain, or hoard, or pelf.
And could I thus attain the path
That leads to meek and lowly love?
Or, wandering in the way of wrath,
Expect to see the Heavenly Dove
Descend, with benedictions free
And sacrifice of self, for me?
