A Masters Hand
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This soul must yield to a Master's hand
At path's end, with toil endured
Destined worth, its truth assured
As winters frost nips at the rose
Shorn from time, as cold winds blow
This soul must yield to a Master's hand
With source of light that guides my way
Beyond these shrouds before me lay
A peace, nor I could understand
This soul found hope with a Master's hand
Such repose within this heart I felt
With veneration, my will has knelt
The warmth of spring doth fill the air
As only one could answer prayer.
Copyright © Charlie Smith | Year Posted 2017
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