Sometimes dear Lord, the hour grows late
Time seems to pass beyond life’s gate
One’s entrance there can be denied
It matters not how hard you tried !
Appearing now inopportune
Depends upon how late or soon
The roots are sunk into the ground
Where permanence is to be found.
For God alone controls the space
He knows how each has run the race
You win or lose by your deport
With word and deed and inner thought !
Claire V. Bogdanos 