If I had thought when I traveled this path
Of what I ought to forestall your wrath
Perhaps these thoughts might never have come
Perhaps to depression I would not succumb
My heart is slowing to a pace that loses
All sense of light; my spirit bruises
At words that have no form or meaning.
On Him and you I have been leaning
Though now I stagger "standing tall"
I blind myself to my own fall.
And if my words would have true meaning
I fear to find Him intervening
And showing you these blots of mud
That trickle from the lies of blood-
Lies I write upon my heart,
Lies falser than the blackest art.