“Do you see it?” he asked one day.
“See what, dear fellow?” was my reply.
“That ball of light, just down the way;
How nice it is,” he said with a sigh.
I looked onward but could see naught
But darkness and people crying out.
My dear friend quite eagerly sought
To make me see past the darkest shroud
That kept me from the little light
Of which he was so terribly fond.
In that realm it was always night,
For we were all prisoners of bond
Where voiceless people cry in vain
And the trees bend in the silent breeze.
Upon our hands are scarlet stains
From improper moments that we seized.
I had never yet seen a light,
But my little friend was still convinced.
And his fine spirit soon took flight,
Despite my solid indifference.
So he pointed in front of me,
Until I was filled with annoyance.
Then in some lovely, great degree,
I saw the Light of Deliverance!