Slowly rising back I make
the choice to scrape for might
and gather this impov'rished heart
to find the will to write.
The year took all our breath away,
took measures from our time.
It stopped our voices, held our throats
and bruised our sense of rhyme.
While many sanguine shouts are praised
to spur us through this year,
we crave for more than vapid prompts,
for something true and clear.
And we can hold to greater hope
than January's slate:
a day that though we know not when,
will surely come with CHRIST and then
the hope that's certain, brought to sight
will be all ours, with no more night
and not a minute late.
And so we rise to face the work
for we should be remiss
if we were not to forward hope
from final day to this.
Now strengthen we our eyes and hearts
that through the darkest days
we yet will love and work and write
and give our Saviour praise.
Unmute
