Our Mistakes
A Poem by Tate Morgan
Are we but images made of God his work in labored progress Made from the dust and the sod our one sheer moment of happiness
We come to terms with our mistakes
to strive, to try, then fail, to win
Seeing what bitter food it makes
tasting the tempting fruits of sin
Looking back along the past
succeeding through our strain
Makes us value life at last
with its unending strife and pain
Who once failed, find triumph sweet
where once stumbled, cry beware
To the other unaccustomed feet
victory comes to those who dare
Are we but images made of God
his work in labored progress
Made from the dust and the sod
our one sheer moment of happiness
What strife encumbers, the soul awakes
learning the errors, of our troubled route
Through sorrows, of our sad mistakes
come truths, we could not live without
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