You are a child and yours is;
You are the one; yours will be.
Only you receive whate’er you gave;
Now you learn to give and get.
A child of a promised land?
Or a promise of a childish stand
For you are the one; yours will be
In time returned, the will of He:
The will of One, remember?
But toiling on sojourned path,
Trail of decisions made, the task,
Not meant at all in any way
To hinder, but to bloom and grow –
The blossoming Light to kindle.
Wherefore stopp’st though, stoppest me;
I am a child and can see
Just a promise made to myself
In time when all things begot.
Such as whom dare being this way –
Being and living – no attempt to stay
Within realms of Glory, or as it were,
The realms of Self – uninhibited;
These shall (as they are yet to learn)
Receive all they’ve given, and return:
Nothing’s left that doesn’t stay.
Dry, the blossom crumbles, unopened.
Solipsistic though, you child, seem,
No time is spared in all your dreams
For the countenance unduly smote
With raw physical obsession.
So you are the one, don’t you now see?
The only one, and yours alone shall be
All you answer to, or for.