If I from here could see the end of things
As they will some day be, instead of now;
Could know, the why, the when, the where, the how;
Could sense the anguish that the future brings,
Or all the sunlit, fairy fun that rings
From every happy day to which I bow,
Would I still wander through the mud and slough,
Or would I change, and touch the soul that sings
From deep within me? Am I big enough,
Although forearmed with knowledge not my own,
To take myself and polish off the rough,
To counteract the worthless seeds I’ve sown?
However much prepared, I seriously
Do doubt if life would change a lot for me.
2-6-44, almost entirely
in (sh-h-h) Church.
by Ray Romine Sunday, February 6, 1944
