Load
The dropping of the rain upon the road
pulsates with my heart's asking goad,
"Why injustice am pursuing, why this load,"
as ringing care descending, can't unfold.
To resting, like a prime were never old,
but always tasking, always pensive, rolled.
And with some stature lasting and extolled,
remembers words so basting, uncontrolled.
'Tis rest a thought away, Oh love, untold
another journey's chastening finds me bold -
Oh rest, Oh rest - Its fasting leaves me cold,
as if the soul's reclassing were but mold.
Then send me onward, testing the unknown,
my final efforts hastening - still not sold!
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