The Road Before Me
The road stretches out to a bend in the trees,
Where the fog hangs heavy and low on the breeze.
I cannot see over the crest of the hill,
Or what lies in wait where the valley is still.
But I know the Master who mapped out the trace,
And I know the beauty that waits at the place
Where the journey concludes and the shadows give way
To the brilliant, unbroken frontier of the day.
So, I walk by faith, or I should say I run this race,
Untethered from sight and only by grace.
With each steady footprint, the horizon is clear,
For the Voice that commanded the road is right here.
Completely dependent, a child by the hand,
I trust Him to level the rough, broken land.
I need not the map, nor the view from the gate—
I just need the Father who makes the way straight.
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