One Two, Three Four, Five Six, Sev’n Eight, Nine Ten;
Methinks my mind be but a boggy fen.
To think this aging world must pass away,
Is heart-ache ‘nough to make a verser pray.
Yet how approach my God the very day
He chose to bless this world with Faith’s birthday?
Ten thousand prayers would be to no avail,
For joy in Faith must make all sorrow fail.
Yea, beauty such as Faith’s doth ne’er appear,
Except when God so choose to banish Fear.
This then remains my only fear to weigh:
Mine eyes might not be graced by Faith each day.
O woe to me that such a fate be mine;
That I munch husks enmired with Faithless swine.
I will return to my father this day;
In Faith is feast for which all men do pray.
Yet Faith, alas, must one day fade away;
A withered leaf though still in flow’r today.
As trees grow rings this day doth line her train;
So regal now but, added to, a chain.
The angels weep to view her graded plight;
One of their own doth vanish in their sight.
How can this have become a day of dread,
When through her birth sheer joy to man is spread?
Yet in these lines dear Faith shall live for e’er;
And through her progeny shall all still share.
Mine honor as a scribe to ‘shrine the word;
I dare not proffer pen to sire blessed herd.
“If all the pens that ever poets held”
Did seek one final virtue by their meld;
Their glorious sum must needs, at length, but say,
“We Love You Faith! Have most happy birthday!”