My wayfaring is to unearth shriveled proof

My wayfaring is to unearth shriveled proof
Of spirit’s renewal further power of prayer,
Of deed that invited gold profit woof,
Of lit rung beneath the darker stair.

All of this long campaign I take
To ramble along and to question;
To look for, in God’s namesake,
To wind unraveling act through congestion.

But the winding evolving never happens
And on and on I trudge and lament,
And blather the fruit before it ripens,
And on every blessing comment.

The hunt is never ending and long.
It saps the very bone out of me;
It drains me of every soulful song;
It makes arid every watered lee.

What does now not dawn on me is how
I can more fitting solve the quizzing duality;
I can take the pleasurable final bow,
I can bank on whispering immortality.