By David De Jong
I ask not for calm, nor stormless sea,
But a beacon of Light I might see.
To guide my way o’er tumultuous swells,
Deliver me from the troughs and dells.
To light my way, up close and out far,
Its guiding trail, my Bethlehem Star.
An Anchor, to fix my place on earth,
To tether purpose and show my worth.
Though drug on the floor, through muck and mire,
Its hold on my soul ne’er slip nor tire.
A Bell, to sound in the dark of night,
And warn of danger beyond my sight.
To chime of cheer and treasured delight,
And ring with the clam of skies lit bright.
A Sail, to unfurl when winds are true,
To fill with hope and spirit anew.
Then capture its strength to carry on,
And warmed by the gleam of purest dawn.
A Hull, made of timbers; tight, secure,
Lined and sealed strong enough to endure;
The tempest, the batters, reefs of strife,
To journey this ocean, of my life.
A Rudder, fast with dominant sway.
Scarred Hands on the wheel guiding my way;
Knowing all that’s past, and whereupon,
Holds true to the compass, sailing on.
This my prayer as my ship sails the sea,
Assured the horizon, heaven be.