When it feels like all the troubles
of the world are so nearby.
No tenderness or mercy.
Real love in short supply.
I can call out to the masses
but won't get a reply.
So lead me to the rock
that is higher than I.
I'll dwell within the shelter
of my Lord, Most High.
No memory of my sin.
No 'When? ', ' Who? ' or 'Why? '
His love for me complete,
this I can't deny.
So lead me to the rock
that is higher than I.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
your theology is good, patrick. yes, may we be led—regularly. -glen