My hand is on the plough, my faltering hand
But all in front of me is untilled land.
The wilderness and the solitary place,
The lonely desert with its interspace.
….My courage is outworn,
Keep me from turning back.
The handles of my plough with tears are wet,
The shears with rust are spoiled, and yet, and yet,
My God! My God! Keep me from turning back.

amyruth.xxoo