The Love of God
Could we with ink the ocean fill, And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill, And every man a scribe by trade,
To write the love of God above Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole, Tho stretched from sky to sky.
- 'the lines of a poem which, after a patient’s death, had been found penciled on the wall of his room in an insane asylum.'
I love this beautiful word picture.