Feeling so timid, no time to converse;
On leaving the room, I rushed down the stairs.
My spirit was fleeing in a black hearse;
Seeing others paria, should I care?
What feels wrong? A despondency's seeping
Through the edifice that restrains the sea;
What muse, locked in my heart, am I keeping?
Trifles dispel! Share in no revelry.
Then running, well-armed, I routed the hearse:
“Return unto me my spirit of joy!”
Reluctantly, did darkness joy release,
Though strong perseverance did I employ.
I then recalled one must fight to be free;
My Savior helps me battle despondency.
"I lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help?
My help comes from the LORD, the maker of heaven and earth.
He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: He that keepeth thee will not slumber
Psalm 121:1-2
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