(What Should I Believe?)
I sit here wondering,
About the sum of life, its delights, its strife,
Its pleasures fleeting, its joys receeding,
With grief impending, and my essence ending,
I sit here pondering
I do sit in wonder,
Time passing quickly, health turning sickly,
My youthfulness gone, my strength fading,
I tend to endure a fearful waiting,
And will soon be sewn asunder.
Life, sadly, seems useless - but yet,
There must be some purpose and meaning,
To mankinds struggles and scheming.
If truth did live with the stoic,
Would man sometimes be heroic,
And give to another his best,
Take anothers pain to his chest,
Can credit be claimed by blind fate?
What manner would anyone show,
But selfishness, greed and lust,
Make mockery of faith, hope and trust,
And with Sartre, debauchery claim,
The highest ideal to attain,
No kindness to ever bestow?
I'm encouraged now that I see,
A meaning to my life finally,
Some courage and kindness in me,
Surely, brought about supernaturally.
Good purpose my life did fulfill,
All bound up in my makers will.
Isa.54:16 - "Behold, I have created the smith
that bloweth the coals in the fire, and that bringeth forth an instrument for his work;
and I have created the waster to destroy."