I’m not a general, but I promise this, Here at the end of every ounce of strength That I can muster, here in the dark pit Of ignorance that is not quite despair And doubt that does but must not break the mind! The pit I have inhabited so long At various times and seasons, that my soul Has taken color in its very grains From the blind darkness, from the lonely cave That never hears a footstep but my own Nor ever will, while I’m a man alive To keep my prison locked from visitors.

What if I heard another footstep there, What if, some day⁠—there is no one but God, No one but God who could descend that stair And ring his heavy footfalls on the stone. And if He came, what would we say to Him?