My darling, spell the words out. You may creep
Across the syllables on hands and knees,
And stumble often, yet pass me with ease
And reach the spring upon the summit steep.
Oh, I could lay me down, dear child, and weep
These charr'd orbs out, but that you then might cease
Your upward effort, and with inquiries
Stoop down and probe my heart too deep, too deep!
I thirst for Knowledge. Oh, for an endless drink
Your goblet leaks the whole way from the spring--
No matter, to its rim a few drops cling,
And these refresh me with the joy to think
That you, my darling, have the morning's wing
To cross the mountain at whose base I sink.
But Edward Doyle has not sunk "at the mountain's base." He is far up its
summit, and he will go higher. He has found God, and nothing can hinder
his flight. He is an inspiration to all struggling, toiling souls on
earth.
As I read his book, with its strong clarion cry of faith and joy and
courage, and ponder over the carefully finished thoughts and beautifully
polished lines, I feel ashamed of my own small achievements, and am
inspired to new efforts.
Glory and success to you, Edward Doyle.