Poem

How bright the sky,
but dim the land,
I watch the impoverished cry,
I want to take them by the hand.

To console the wounded,
To feed the hungry,
To stop the dying

But alas, I prove too small a man,
My arms to weak to hold.
The suffering masses, a saddened band,
They look so tired and old.

Weeping endures for the night they say,
But I’m not sure when the day breaks gray.
Pray for the broken, mend what you can,
For God is much bigger than the problems of man.

May we make a difference
in the place where we're called,
May our hearts and love
Stay forever enthralled.

With the God who made us,
The God who saves,
The God who reigns.

I will carry His hope to the darkness and din,
To bring His light, and let it shine in.
Therein is the hope for which my heart craves,
For he is the one who saves from the grave.