A Stranger in this Land Print
By Cliff Ashby   
Thursday, 20 March 2014

Lord, I am lonely
And the sun is shining
Listless, while the wind
Shakes the aging leaves.
The harvest has been gathered
All is bagged and barned,
Silos burst with grain.
Why, Lord, must I still stand
Dropping blind seeds
On to a barren soil?
 
Come, sweet Jesus, cut me down
With the sickle of your mercy,
For I am lonely
And a stranger in this land.


 
 

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