The servants’ feet do walk the miles, with gentle hand to lead.
Though tired and unworthy still, they carry forth Your word.
Though scarred and broken to the quick, You wash them in Your love.
Though slow and lost in most unruly gait, You guide then in their paths.
Through desperate and in most fearful pain, You feed them with sweet hope:
That one fine day, at heaven’s gate, a child will run again.
© Free Anglican Press
No comments:
Post a Comment