THE LUTE

The lute, a barrier to song of soul.

For none save God

Can music charm

From out a thing man-made.

A bowl of wood,

A string or two to arm

The troubadour with weapon strong.

{79}

{78}

POWERLESS

When I see a look of sadness,

In the eyes of You,

Thoughts of grief akin to madness

Surge my being through.

Am I then so weak and helpless,

That I can not send

Even shadowings of sorrows

To their deserved end.

{81}

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