The Disciple: XXVII

My safety lies not, any hour,
In what I generate,
But in the living, healing power
Of that which doth create.

If he is God to the incomplete,
Fulfilling lack and need,
Then I may cast before his feet
A half-word or half-deed.

I bring, Lord, to thy altar-stair,
To thee, love-glorious,
My very lack of will and prayer,
And cry--Thou seest me thus!

From some old well of life they flow!
The words my being fill!--
"Of me that man the truth shall know
Who wills the Father's will."