A thousand ages, known to He are gone,
In peace I'll never, be alone.
Time, oh time, just a slow running stream,
Yet I know that He, is not a dream.
Love of a child, that is so divine,
I would only know, because they were mine.
And then I see His his scarred hands and also His feet,
How did such love, and such sorrrow meet?
Could it be that just I, a plain sinful man,
Can sow all His seeds, amongst this plain, sinful land.
Strife always fierce, and the days will be long,
Yet I know I must carry, the warfare on.
Because I know the Father, and I know the Son,
It is written and known that both are but one.
My sword in hand, may I sow through these hills,
Give my the courage, and be it Your Will.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem