Poetry

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Arabelle often slips away
To her secret place
It’s her out-of-the-way
Tranquil space.

Once she enters in
And closes tightly the door
She kneels reverently upon
Its narrow, hallowed floor.

Alone Arabelle runs there
To speak to God, and to share
To see His unseen face
And unload to Him all of her cares.

Tis behind the doors
Of Arabelle’s place
Dark uncertainties
Seem to evaporate.

Tis there, her sins
Are washed fully away
And all the dark clouds
Are no longer gray.

Tis there she implores
Angelic assistance
To guard her, to keep her
In all of her ways.

Tis there she is unchained
From her myriad of fears
All of them must refrain
Love won’t let them remain

Tis there, Arabelle
Utters the name,
The most splendid, well
The glorious of all names, Jesus.

Oh, that we all had such a space
As Arabelle’s secret place
I suppose all of us do
But we must consider entering there

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