Rowing this Boat
When I finish the row and
yonder my soul is invited-
for my casket will they lay beneath-
I'll take with me desire.
On the top unseen
where we rule the fate of men,
I'll despise my present state;
O that I could perch and mount.
What a wonder yon!
'Thout tales old and vain,
for all folklore will be actuated,
Charles the Darwin will not be.
That land ashore and blissed,
I'll see no monkey in the lineage;
Adam will contend Darwin sore
Who'll wish he'd no manly essence.
Now is my boat rowing
and the tempest doeth beset;
Of fate and destiny am I tossed,
Drifted on course I rest assured.
Blest assurance, O how sweet this sound!
For that voice I once heard again I hear,
In the upheaval the master beckons,
"It's I, fear not."
Gold and silver have not stumbled me,
I've kept rowing and the master holding,
The trances I have and often inadequacy
Have set my face aflint and numb.
Copyright © JACOB MUTHOKA