As Published by NLP in Fields of Gold

The Lighthouse deserted, sits alone on a hill,
the hush of the ocean, so peaceful and still.
It's construction of wood, withered over the years,
somehow beckons to me and dispels all my fears.

I feel a presence inviting, I know someone is there,
a lantern burns dimly, an old man sits on a chair.
He gives a warm welcome, the room fills with light,
the beacon shines brightly, for souls lost at night.

We walk up the stairs, leading to the lookout above,
standing with him, on this watchful tower of love.
The beacon searches endless, in all streams of life,
pilots me safely back home, in all storms of strife.

The old man touches my heart, soul and my mind,
in the darkness of nights, you may be lost but I'll find.
Such encouragement bestowed, this I needed to hear,
some nights are so long, when they're filled with tears.

This Lighthouse so comforting, shines ever so bright,
the old man and the vision and a beacon for light.
I believe he still watches, from this tower of love,
a Lighthouse keeper of old, in the Lighthouse above.