© Jeanne E Webster. All Rights Reserved
Your great promises, Lord, kept me on track
Sharp-set stones deeply cut, my strength spent
I could not meet your eyes if I turned back…
So on I went.
You would not yield your faith in me
As menacing crags threatened to bar
I conquered inch by terrified inch to see…
My goal afar.
I struggle now amid harsh golden years…
I flinch; falter blindly, yet deep within,
“You can!” my spirit, unwavering, hears…
Lord, we shall win.