Psalm 139:9, 10
If I take the wings of the morning,
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea;
even there shall thy hand lead me,
and thy right hand shall hold me.
My son is on a ship tonight
just where, I cannot tell
He's keeping watch and peering
at the inky, sequinned swell.
Two tree-high masts above him stand
much taller than he's known
With rigging ancient in design
and sails the night-wind blown.
His bleary mind now sharpened
by all a ship commands
Drops all the cares of yesterday
for thrilling new demands.
The past and future disappear
as present reigns supreme
The raw experience of now—
reality or dream?
