My quest is to unearth minute proof
Of spirit's renewal and power of prayer,
Of deed that invited gold profit woof,
Of lit rung beneath the darker stair.
All of this long sojourn I take
To wander along and to question;
To look for, in God's namesake,
To wind up act through congestion.
But the winding up never happens
And on and on I trudge and lament,
And rot the fruit before it ripens,
And on every blessing comment.
The hunt is never ending and long.
It saps the very bone out of me;
It drains me of every soulful song;
It makes arid every watered lee.
What does not dawn on me is how
I can better solve the quizzing duality;
I can take the gracious final bow,
I can bank on whispering immortality.