A Birthday Wish
I wish that all my friends might know
The glory of a life grown older—I say not old
For everyone who knows me argues years that
Pass have power --not— to make me so.
The body--what consequence is that when
It will perish while yet the soul lives on?
Youth is in the eye that beholds the wonder of
A setting sun, the majesty of mountains and the
Glory of a moth upon the wall, spread out to display
Colors, textures, and intricacies of design that challenge
Art to comprehend, yet it seems he says, “A lowly moth
Is worthy of such fine detail, precise imagining."
So then am I.
If like a vessel on the potter’s shelf I’m made to hold
His wealth, then surely by that measure, years have filled me up.
Their stealth dismays me not, for I am holder of the Majesty of God.
So, come on years, and do your best to rob me of the treasure
We call youth. The fount that brought men to their death has
Brought me life unsought, but gifted by Eternal Master of us all.
He who painted wings on moths has saved his best gifts for the
Last, and filled me up and fills me still with glory not my own
But His. I am the holder of treasures I can’t measure and
So I will remain until He breaks my jar of clay and brings me
Home. Oh glorious day, for either way I perish not, for
He has made a vessel new for me to occupy when I have
Served His purpose here.
Come now another year, a dawning day, bring what you will
For God will have His way and I will leave the future up to Him