Clasp my hand, and take me;
Take me to the mountain,
And let me outpour my shame.
To the pit ’neath the fountain—
The fountain that blossoms
Peace, and mercy, and love.
I am fed up by the stumps,
The stumps of lust and death.
I don't want to die thrice;
Twice I sought the gate,
And it opened by the Master—
The Master who paid all my hate.
But still, I sit here ’neath a cliff,
Where the fountain daily soars;
The sores of my ailed grief
Pant and yearn for the door—
The door to the mountain stairs,
Where everyone's eyes gaze
To the top of the mountain there—
The seat of the Master, at final maze.