In sickness, as health, is God’s strength supplied;
Oh, let me there, on it, subsist, and live,
That I may yet arise and bless his name.
For even were I in the pink of health,
I still would fall to ashes and to dust
Did not my God uphold me by his power.
I wrote this over the course of the last couple of weeks, after I fell quite ill the weekend of my birthday and didn’t recover (even to my “normal”—I haven’t been in “perfect health” in years, as I only know what that even feels like from my one season of cross country in high school) until about four or five days later. My first ideas for this poem began with the same first line, but took it in an entirely different direction (which, by the time I could write anything down, I had forgotten); after turning it over “in my head” for a while, this is what I came up with.
As always, I earnestly welcome your comments, suggestions (perhaps of a real title for this poem?), questions, critique, or other feedback about this or any other part of my work. (In other words, if you liked this poem, or you didn’t like it, or it made you think of something, or … please leave a comment to let me know.) If you liked this, you can also read other poems I’ve written here on my blog (starting with yesterday’s archive installment, since the full archive is by now, at well over a hundred poems, somewhat daunting); I’d especially like to know which poems you think are my best.