This Mortal Height
With press of fingertip on stone
I bless the real as all my own,
As undefoot, where'ere I've trod,
I know the ground is more than God.
Fair winds have wafted scents to me
That make more sense than mystery.
No miracles have greater charm
Than scars of battle on my arm.
The roar of motor more delights
Than all the choirs of heavenly flights.
And through my eyes, the world I see
Becomes a book that brightens me.
My mind, that is my deepest star,
Leads me on out to where the far ones are.
This mortal height of all I am
Is that thing greatest----one lone man.
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