18 May, 2012
18
The word he then did speak, fits now as then,
For the same kind of men doth mock at it.
God-fools, God-drunkards these do call the men
Who think the poverty of their all not fit,
Borne humbly by their art, their voice, their pen,
Save for its allness, at thy feet to fling,
For whom all is unfit that is not everything.
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Sweet friends, receive my offering. You will find
Below each worded page a white space set:--
This is the mirror of each friendly mind
Reflecting that. In this blog we are met.
Make it, dear hearts, of worth to you indeed:--
Let your white space be ground, my text be seed,
Growing to golden ears, that faith and hope shall feed.