Tartessus (A Servant’s Dream)

Nineveh I do know: victory’s stage

A plan where the timid will never age

But if Nineveh’s for me, I know not

Would You speak, my Master, of my life’s lot?

 

‘Tis not for me to speak, O Faithful One

For I am but a servant, though a son,

A lowly sight, a bedraggled spirit

A mongrel hungry for the ground’s profit

 

But for a word, my worthless head I bow

Say I with respect thicker than a vow

For a line, will my callused knees suffice?

I tremble for Your mercy, I can’t rise

 

For the word is Tarshish, a childhood dream,

With its mild climate, fertile land and stream;

The line’s a taste of opportunity—

A foolish man’s key to serenity

 

I beheld not yet I heard of the land

Oranges, olives nursed by my warm hand

Then, by sugarcanes, earn nickel sugar

By blood, extend blood for those who suffer

 

Today’s Tartessus—beckoning splendor!

Master, forbid the stray of my ardor

Just a need of a want, want in a need

For mouth and heart, not for ne’er-ending’s seed

 

For I’m water oft troubled yet flowing

By Your grace, through the banks of Your seeing;

A constant target of walls crashing down,

Of piercing eyes from mountains of renown

 

Tarshish—just a dream, not a rebellion

Modest wants clustered as a battalion

Uprising’s from my lawless man of old

But with my now-passions, to You I’m sold

 

Can I just go to Tarshish first, Master?

Is Assyria’s time a “thereafter”?

Oh please forgive my yearnings, my Lord

You’re still You, lovingly true—word-for-word

 

After lines upon lines, Your will be done

But please tell Your servant, Your trying son

For if Nineveh is not my calling,

To Tartessus I should be soon sailing…