A Birthday

SHOT, like an arrow, thro’ the air, My life is flying. Where, oh where? The sudden flights on which I go, And what the aim I may not know. Ah, when this troubled heart is dead, When the mark the shaft has sped; Then should my soul unerring know The mark to which I trembling go. Then speeding toward this unknown mark Need I go trembling thro’ the dark? No. For one thing I surely know, It was God’s hand that bent the bow.