The Purpose
Too often I am sure I read the world aright
When only my own heart it is obscuring light
And few often I would turn again
To deny its purpose in my pain
But would not know who there to meet
Except compounding error in retreat
Yet if you are sorry that I say not I am sorry
I shall not deny your coming
Not from your forgiveness seek to hurry
Since there is so much fixing in forgiving
Let me not though be sorry in defeat
If I my purpose, God-given, finds itself to be complete
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