Within the broken row
With field firm hands
You fashioned me from clay.
And placed the bless’ed seeds,
I cannot say completely what I feel.
Winter has come and robbed me of my breath.
But wait till Spring and once again I’ll steal
Across some field, some barren yard of death
Prayer: Matthew 23: 37
O Keep me ‘neath the hen’s bright wing.
From pillar’s fire and cloudy burst.
Keep me near the well and bring
Live water for my aching thirst.