A wounded spirit,
Doubtful he’ll inherit,
His heart so heavy and low;
Courage and energy fading away,
Melting like bitter snow.

Awful thoughts;
“What’s my lot?
Take this bitter cup I’ve been drinking!”
Feels withdrawn from grips of grace,
Surely his faith has been shrinking.

Going astray.....
Is he drifting away?
He finds it harder to bear;
Full of fear and utter gloom,
He sinks into dark despair.

Caught in his woes,
But his Master knows....
He’s walked that road before him!
Finally, the balm from His healing Hand
Pulls him from the quicksand within.

“Master!” he cried!
I soon would have died
Alone in my pain and grief!”
Quietly, He said, “No, my dear son;
I was always there for relief;

I bottled your tears,
Listened to your prayers,
I fed you My Word all the while;
Poured grace for your gain and carried your pain,
Never letting go...you’re my child!”


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