My life is a wearisome journey;
I’m sick with the times and the heat,
The rays of the sun beat upon me;
Life’s briars are wounding my feet.
There are so many hills leading upwards
It keeps me a longing for rest,
But he who appoints me my journey,
Knows just what is needful and best.
He loves me too well to forsake me,
Or give me one trial too much,
And the toils of my road will seem nothing
When e’er I receive his kind touch.
When the last feeble step has been taken
And the gates of the city appear,
The beautiful songs of the angels
Will float out on listening ears.
Though now I am foot-sore and weary,
I’ll rest when I’m safely at home,
I know I’ll receive a glad welcome
For the Saviour Himself has said: “come.”
So when I am weary in body
And sinking in spirit, I say,
All the toils of the road will seem nothing
When I get to the end of the way.
Then I’ll try to press hopefully onward,
Thinking often through each weary day,
The toils of the road will seem nothing
When I get to the end of my way.
Frank Barbour Coffin
(Frank Barbour Coffin)
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Based on Topics: Life Poems, Thought & Thinking Poems, Home Poems, Beauty Poems, Angels Poems, Cities Poems, Body Poems, Listening PoemsBased on Keywords: hopefully, appoints, barbour, foot-sore