Weary

I would walk on, and leave it all be-

Hind: will walk on; and when my feet grow

Sore, the boatman waits—his sails are all

Unfurled—he waits to row me to a

Fairer shore. My tired limbs shall rest on

Beds of down, my tears shall all be wiped

By Jesus’ hand; my soul shall know the

Peace it long hath sought—a peace too

Wonderful—ever to understand
Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

Poem

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Cruz Avatar
October 31, 2014 at 4:38 PM
well written Paul. Thanks for sharing this
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