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NOE
May this give us rest
from all our toils.
We laboured from dayrise
till the westering sun
but it seems like chaff
in the wind.
Worn and weary we become
tired more than
we 've been a long time
seems sometimes as if not all there was
but all there ever had been.
And without any ounce of strenght
left in us save
the rugged will pushing
us on as we trudge and hobble on.
In our despair, we hope for the rain
there seems to be no knowledge of our passing
in the woodland, on the rock
where we have have walked
sorrowfully, we look up
in plea for thee O' Lord!
bless the land you have
for our iniquities cursed
And bless the sweat of our faces.
May we bring in the sheaves
and put the tares to fires.
