Directed Steps

Why now, has he reason?
Inclined, he is, to say,
“No pleasure? ‘Tis treason!
   A man’s mind plans his way.”

All else, seen as bondage,
This his long-held reflex.
How could he acknowledge:
  His steps—the Lord directs?

Yet knowing that his seed,
He did not, himself, lay.
It must be false, indeed:
 A man’s mind plans his way?

From within, comes no aim;
What is it he neglects?
To see from Whom, he came:
His steps—the Lord directs.

Who else is there to seek,
But Man’s Sculptor in clay?
His belief, he must now tweak:
A man’s mind plans his way.

Best he finds what is true,
Lest he keep his defects.
Always, he wished he knew:
His steps—the Lord directs.