See, I am cumbered, Lord,
With serving, and with small vexa-
Upstairs, and down, my feet
Must hasten, sure and fleet.
So weary that I cannot heed Thy word;
So tired, I cannot now mount up with
I wrestle — how I wrestle! — through the
Nay, not with principalities, nor powers –
Dark spiritual foes of God’s and man’s –
But with antagonistic pots and pans:
With footmarks in the hall,
With smears upon the wall,
With doubtful ears, and small unwashen
And with a babe’s innumerable demands.
I toil with feverish haste, while tear-drops
(O, child of mine, be still. And listen –
At last, I laid aside
Important work, no other hands could do
So well (I thought), no skill contrive so
And with my heart’s door open — open
With leisured feet, and idle hands, I sat.
I, foolish, fussy, blind as any bat,
Sat down to listen, and to learn. And lo,
My thousand tasks were done the better so.
Thanking this friend for posting words of my own heart...