Is there somewhere
a little lonesome cabin
lost among the forests
on a wild, deserted shore;
an empty little cabin:
rough hewn, worn, and solid
with a dandy drawing chimney,
books, and windows—nothing more?
I’m tired of noise and traffic,
people pushing, phones and letters,
dates and deadlines, styles and headlines,
pride and pretense, nothing more;
and I’m needing such a cabin,
near God’s masterpiece of mountains—
such a lost and lonesome cabin
where a tired soul can adore.
Taken by permission from Legacy of a Pack Rat, by Ruth Bell Graham.
©1989 The Ruth Bell Graham Literary Trust.