Friday, December 12, 2014

Waiting For Advent
Speak gently to my wounded broken heart;
On my crushed spirit lay your healing balm.
There is in me a wailing wind of storm
That only gentle hands divine can calm.
This constant pain, this weariness always,
Need something more than this world can provide.
I yearn for rest, for peace from troubled thoughts,
Some sanctuary for my soul to hide.
Or as I walk along my life's set road,
Some sign at least that there will be a time
When pain will end, when wrongs will be made right,
Though this life be a constant labouring climb.
Speak gently, say you will gather all our tears
And heal and heal life's broken weeping years.

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