by Stephen Sloyer

With unsullied vigor, with might and nerve
I rise each day to greet the Fates
No questions about Whom I serve
Shall haunt me sorely, from morn’ till late.

As I softly speak my morning prayers
‘Neath the watchful eye of the climbing Sun
Not burdened by any worldly cares
With firm conviction, I carry on.

What tarrying, or what great delay
Should rise to keep me from the day?
For when the morning’s come, the Sun arises,
The Devil calls to court his prizes.

“Back, beast, back!” I cry aloud,
“You’ve no business here, among this crowd”
And look, my boys, at how he cowed.
For unsheathed had I my raging sword
To banish scores o’ demonic horde
By violence, no! – alone the Word.