Lost and wounded, weary, worn.
Nor forgotten. Not forlorn.
In the breaking, hope is born
Fresh and new.
Feeling shattered. Feeling shorn.
Stretched past limits; still untorn.
Mercy meets the ones who mourn
Like the dew.
O Father, let me never be
A hindrance to your plan for me,
But grant me, Lord, the eyes to see
The roads you’d have me travel.
And strengthen me to follow thee
By sun or star, by land or sea
Until the day I fin’lly flee
This world of grit and gravel.
And he said to all, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.”