Soul, thou hast gone days without prayer;
Thy communion, thou hast suspended;
Knowest not, that this is thy tender?
So, look always that this jewel is ever tended!
Thou hast gone without thy masters face:
Hence His biddings to thee are unknown:
If known, thou art bereft of His aiding grace;
Up then, away to a converse with thy own.
Methinks is long ere thy Bible is looked into:
Thou hast let the holy writ closed too long
Hence thy way seemed furrow and narrow
And art made to go the way of the throng.
Away from this holy mystic volume,
Pitcheth our tents in the sphere of chaos
Wherein abideth no order but gloom.
Pour on the pages: avoid a mare gloss.
Thou abide days without minding heaven;
A place, wherein abide thy true kindred.
Little wonder that thou livest uneven!
Let heaven be thy worship, heart and dread.
Many have no hope to cheer the grave;
Living with a certain expectation of doom,
And it is long ere thou strivest to them save:
This would heaven's kingdom ever boom.
'Tis thy wisdom to make God thy time;
Thy wisdom, living, moving and being in Him.
Let thy heart and His in concert rhyme.
Dream no vanity, let His glory be thy dream.
Amen.
OJOJE ADEYI