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.
Garden of delight wherein the jewels of earth do lie!
Tell me, in your vault of gold, will the flowers ever die?
Nothing of so fair a mien could return to earthly dust.
Even if the earth do say, “It is finished,” trust we must
In the God who tells of light that will lift to Heaven above
Every perfumed flower that blows symphonies on wings of love.