A light in the dark
To guide the bark.
On a sea drift
To the rift.
The rift of rest
Can ease even the best.
The siren’s sweet song
Is so very strong.
Do not fight
It will end your plight.
When the little old lady came hobbling in church
with the help of a cane and her God-given powers,
her corsage caught my eye and I felt myself search
beneath fluttering ribbons for fugitive flowers.
All the roses were shriveled and horribly dry
and their color was faded, their fragrance was spent;
but she whispered to me with a satisfied smile,
"Did you see the corsage that my grandchildren sent?"
So I studied more closely each fragile rosette
nestled snugly in fern of a delicate lace,
and the satiny streamers and billowy net
formed a frame for the love-light that flooded her face.
"It is lovely," I said; and I meant every word,
realizing myself just how lucky we are
that our lives become sweeter as love is transferred,
that our flowers bloom again when the heart is ajar.
When troubles surmount,
And life’s path grows rough,
I remember God has always promised
Grace to meet every trial,
Grace to carry us through,
Grace to aid and keep us,
When helping friends are few.
Grace for daily living,
And grace enough to die,
Until God calls our name, and we go,
To those mansions in the sky.
Grace to light the darkness,
Grace through every storm,
Grace to walk through valleys,
Grace that keeps us safe from harm.
So I’ll just keep on trusting Him,
Even when times are tough,
Because I know God has always promised,
The soldier’s wreath soon comes to bare
It is the soldiers whom names they do not wear.
The soldier drum’s beat roars from ear
They own the dull thud of their final tear.
Trooper of no name as far as from the American States divide
They toured for this nation’s pride.