Oh, would that I, my own name rejecting,
Be called upon to serve You ever more.
Such toil, indeed, is beyond my reck’ning;
The most arduous tasks, they be not chores,
For the sweat of labour, it does turn sweet.
I, Thy bidding, do only all my days,
And though my muscles ache, I am not weak;
Thou dost grant me life by Thy merest gaze.
Dwelling at Your side, waiting at Your feet,
Would fill my measure, making life complete.
(Don’t bother looking here for Sonnet I. I wrote it, lost it, and have only been able to recall the first line. So, I’m reserving a spot should I ever find or remember it.)
Very impressive. I’ve never been able to pull off the sonnet.
Good luck on finding/remembering sonnet I. I have a piece that I once wrote that will haunt me my remaining days. I have tried to reporduce it with no success. May you always have more luck than I.
Thanks.
I think a sonnet is technically supposed to be 14 lines and written in iambic pentameter, so I’ve probably taken some liberty. Still, I like the discipline of structured verse, and there’s something satisfying about 100 syllables.
Hey baldman,
Good poetry. I love poetry–when it’s good, y’know (of course, for me that means Byron, Wordsworth, and especially Elliott. But, you reminded me of something else with your comment about 100 syllables. You know, of course, the pericope in the center of Mark about the Mount of Transfiguration. Well, Mark shared your affinity for good writing it seems, because if you count the words in the original text of this pericope you will find there are EXACTLY 100 words before and EXACTLY 100 after the phrase “This is my beloved Son. Listen to Him.” How’s that for a kick in the head?
Eric,
Thanks, and I didn’t know about the symmetry in Mark.