The waves rise up and toss against the boat.
The storm and tempest rage.
Not just from fear, I hide amidst my coat,
But also from his wage.
The wind will not, as much as I refuse,
Relent its vicious cry,
But thunders on, in vengeance and abuse,
My battered soul to try.
And to accuse, the rain and sleet and hail,
Descend upon me now.
With untold force, they crash against my sail,
They will that I should bow.
So in the deep, as lightning strikes with pow'r,
I sink into the sea.
Just praying in this last and lonely hour,
That He will rescue me.
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Copyright © 2010 by Layne Cockcroft
All Rights Reserved
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