Should I really be a writer?

Doubt and turmoil fill my mind
And fill the tablet white and lined
With violent hills and valleys of my thoughts.
Crumpled paper balls festoon
The corners of my messy room
The scorned remains of many worthless plots.

Autumn sunsets

When the sunlight shines behind the trees
And lights their autumn glory
It gives their brilliant flaming hues
A jewel tinted story.
That collaborates the joyful tale
Told in the golden evening
When the sun gently slips away
To sleep before the morning.

Thoughts during the sacrament

When thou knelt in Gethsamane,
Did thy thoughts turn unto me?
Did I, thou holy, meek and kind,
Cross thy perfect, loving mind?

I would be that blessed being,
Comforting thy suffering.
That I in some minuted way
Could my debt to thee repay.

I know through thy sacrifice, Lord,
I all peace and joy afford.
I would that through me thou could bless
Others with this happiness.

Oh, let me be thy earthly hands!
Bend my pride to thy commands.
I pray to lose all thought of me,
In my service unto thee.