They bow and kneel before Him
And join hands to thank and praise Him
On their waking hours He is their thoughts
In the dead of night, their lives to Him they entrust
The seed in the womb they protect
In obedience to their Master’s precepts
The hands of their children they take
To the path of light majority don’t tread
Tilling the soil they do not tire
To feed their children and fill their desire
Money and possessions they let go
Admonishing one another,
“These do not secure heaven for you.”
My eyes did not escape
The smiles on their faces
The peace they seem to exhibit.
From this darkness at a distance,
I wonder how I could follow in their path
Illumined by that cross of a man they call Jesus
Bruised, tired hands I stretch them out
Let me touch the cloak of THY JESUS.
This Borrowed Scrap of Time 