How firmly it is by his grace,
That we should travel far,
So swift he is take up aid,
A near and guiding star,
For he has given of himself,
And more all things to tell,
That we are blessed without lack:
Yes, all that's his is ours.

Now sharing in His death,
To welcome in His life:
The water is far deeper,
Than shallows would so plead,
Behind the meager pool,
Lies weighty tragic sleep,
Truly the old self is entombed,
Much more the new unshackeled then!

Travel trouble,
Dumbfounded in the wrong location,
Lights out no sparse communication,
But the trouble starts to simmer,
My finger pointed in the mirror,
Why can't I read the little print,
Right there! The middle muddled int-
-erspersed in all the email text,
And all of me but none the world perplexed,
A humble even quiet call to be somewhere else entirely.

I see the contoured shadows of the sky,
This rolling teal and grey that strikes me with an awe,
The air is cold tonight. Yet He is warm,
All embers of the day are spent beside.

Heavy halls,
I'm told of weight so ancient here befalls,
The stench of books and history told,
Wafts viscous through the sun-lit streets,
And words amount to tiny hills,
That slot into the library walls.