There is an emptiness in every man,
No denying that it exists.
It is a void that must be occupied,
Filling it every man's wish.
Yet most know not where to look,
How to identify the cure.
In vanity they grope below,
Blind to the open door.
He must fill that void with something,
To earthly pursuits he flies.
To money, work, and family,
Yet still a longing sigh.
Perhaps he will go further still,
To pursuits that wound and pain.
Will he pursue the "higher" goals,
financial success and worldly fame?
Will he achieve some satisfaction,
Or will he suffer discipline's rod?
More importantly will he realize
That his void is shaped like God?
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