Lord, let me chain myself to thee, that I might not stray!
Through thoughts of chains, a word, — No chain – but a silver cord.
In that simple thought I see, thou higher art than me
Foolish are we men – our thoughts are small, and low, and hard we call,
Twisting, driving, hoping thus our fellow man by force to sway.
We see not thy higher ways from these, our earthen dusty jars
Our imagined modes and mediums unenlightened are — are but tediums.
When through our own small eyes we see, we mar and bind that endless “Thee;”
The Truth, The Life, The Way, — Who Art; Lord, these things we cannot chart,
But glimmering above we see from afar, the glow of the dancing stars.
But thou who art thyself The Life, and Light, and Heart of all;
Working from within a man thy thread, on secret tracks runs on ahead.
Thou wilt not force free hands, nor tie them up with bands,
Until a man, free, will come, patient thy cord will hum,
For time and space are thine, my Lord, and thou knowest their secret call.
The hearts of man thou wilt not chain — not chained, as men would see,
From thee a cord; and more — a ray, a light, that shines by night and day.
A Love that outwards reaches, inwards flows, fibers humming, it warmly glows,
That thy child may find it, in darkness lost, through swirling mists and frost.
No need have I, my Lord, for chains — for thou hast bound thyself to me.
Father, thou art bound to me — I thank you! — help I pray with this:
I am weak, and small, my cords to bind are fragile, feeble things.
When my ties to thee lose hold, when my memory grows old,
If my heart should lose its zeal, if thy will should seem unreal,
Let thy love around me stronger grow, that my small love hear, and up, and go.
~ Beth Frances