These Four Lights

These Four Lights
My child, I've come to understand four lights,by which I've walked my troubled way, knewthem as friends throughout my blackest nights.And now it's done, as I sink out of view,my blood, I pass them gladly on to you.
The first lights up the eyes of God and sothrough it we glimpse His face, infinity,the universe, our place within the flowof life: thus offers us stability:the brightest hope for all humanity.
And now the second lights our race, our world,shows all our tribal actions on this tractcalled Earth and shines upon the flag unfurledby which we gladly march, pro patria intact,to kill and still avoid hell's cataract.
This third, so dear to me as my end nearsburns bright on us and each one we call ours,those of our name, through joys through fears through tearsbinds us together through the passing hoursshould paths be roughly paved or decked with flowers.
And now this fourth, the brightest and the best:that's yours! That's yours the instant of your birthunchanging should you guard its interestand may live on if what you do has worthso long as Man shall walk his mother earth.Child, tend it well: this fourth light is your sunas you are mine to shine when I am gone.


In answer to the query, Sam, the above was the poem referred to throughout my first novel, More Deaths Than One
I wrote it as if through the mind and the pen of John Macrae, deceased father of our viewpoint character, Thomas Thornton. But you cannot write a poem like this one without incorporating in it some of your own philospohy.