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THE JOURNEY

The dusty road winds on and on,
The hot mid day sun beats down,
It is a long day's journey,
And the traveller is weary,
A resting-place is needed,
Where can one be found?

The traveller finally stops,
His mind unsound,
He cannot plod on,
He sinks unsteadily to the ground,
But before his head touches the sand,
Out of nowhere appears a Hand,
Bearing a nail-pierced mark,
The Hand Of Christ.

It lifts the weary traveller's head,
It smooths the tired brow,
And at the touch of the Divine Hand,
A million volts surge through the man,
The awe-inspiring power of Christ.

Up jumps the traveller,
Instantly rejuvenated,
And hand in hand with His Saviour,
He walks on and on,
Endued from above,
With never-failing strength,
And courage to last
Till his journey's end.

© MIRIAM JACOB

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