Henry B. Eyring
My soul began its journey here as jagged as a rock;
Awkward angles, edges sharp -- yet dull as forceless chalk.
It would not take a polish nor hold up to heat and cold.
Twas not a thing of beauty, but a piece of punk fool’s gold.
The years have blunted many barbs; and tears dissolved the crust.
Yet heartache packed the rubble firm, with ev’ry unfair thrust.
And now perhaps a sparkle may at last come from my soul,
As Jesus starts to polish it and make it sound and whole.
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