On The Wings Of A Dove. Poem by Mona Drion

Let God's eye mark the path
Through each place I must pass,
Through lowland or height,
Through pain or delight.
Let me not go astray
Nor in comfort delay.
Let my soul as an arrow take flight,
And unerringly make for what's right.
Let that grace provided for Paul
Be supplied to the weakest of all.
Let my heart be a harp
'neath the finger of God,
Which he plays to his tunes from above.
Then I know that each part
Of a saga of love
Shall descend on the wings of a dove.