Questions

I stood before the mirror,
In my old blue-faded gown.
With deep set wrinkled-eyes,
I looked me up and down.

I tried to find the reason why,
That I was so toil-worn.
Who sent me here to trudge along,
Who said that I be born?

Who made my life a stepping-stone,
For that eternal day?
Who furrowed deep my aging brows,
And streaked my hair with grey?

Who caused that I look quietly on,
And breathe earth's perfumed air?
While seeking all the faith and hope,
That living mortals share?

With all the pure in heart,
And they who long have sinned?
And those who forever sweep the world,
In a raging soul...whirl-wind?

These are the questions,
With-in my longing heart.
Making each unselfish deed,
A great eternal part.

And leaving...the answers,
Of His wondrous working plan.
To the righteous God of all,
And the maker of mortal men.


E.P. 1908 - 1989