from the diary of an old soul

 Lord, in thy spirit's hurricane, I pray,      

 Strip my soul naked—dress it then thy way.      

 Change for me all my rags to cloth of gold.      

 Who would not poverty for riches yield?      

 A hovel sell to buy a treasure-field?      

 Who would a mess of porridge careful hold      

 Against the universe's birthright old?

        ~George MacDonald