Post Script

First seven lines (mostly intact) composed March of 2017; set aside for seven and half years, then, before completing it just last month.

When every thing I’ve loved, excepting Thee,
Has turned again at last to ash and dust;
When every gift You’ve given, saving three,
Has ceased or faded, failed, gone to rust;
When all the love that’s left in me is grief;
When being given hope’s the final hope;
When faith holds fast somehow, but not belief;
When last temptation is toward gun or rope;
When all of this befalls, or if it does,
And what I’ve known of joy’s been buried deep
So no more recollection of what was
In comfort comes in small rain or in sleep:
Lord, grant me in that day that I might stand,
Though falling, in Your gently holding hand.

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Plenty of small rain down raining these days; why not join us for shelter and