Eaglet

This chance that’s wrought upon me by the years
Is precious. Though the sword debarred
From Eden once our starving clay,
We come upon the crib and know the way
Moonlight can sing, if Luna be convinced.
The rod can bud for you or I. The oak
Be felled by axe or time. My promise goes
That by whatever means are mine
This house shall stand.
Or wind or sand
This chance that’s wrought upon us by the years
Shall make us wise if God will grant.
An eagle’s throat is my request, an eagle’s sight.
Let those among us be with honour blessed,
With bravery and strength our limbs be graced.
In truth from muse or angel sans my wit
Comes song to seed and thus to fruit.
Give me, if I may add, a staff,
To walk beside the gods on foot.
This boy of lead into a father is transmute.
More mercy, God, among the flowering dew,
All of your beauty has my vision seared;
If blindness seize, then teach my hands the lute.
Worlds on no chart have in my soul appeared,
Heavy and heavy in their news;
Of things to come these are the clues;
Unheard-of greens and melting blues.
This chance that’s wrought upon me by the years
Should urge me, eaglet, into You.