Dedication

Though death's untimely hand shall some day find me
And pluck me from the only things I know:
Else this, or die beneath the winter snow.
Til then I'll find a way to remain free;
Though caught among the snares of surrounding thorns,
Whose intent be but only to o'er whelm
And block my view of any nearby helm:
Amidst the frequent, raging, summer storms.
But Thou art the gentle rain which now doth sustain:
Keeping my petals soft and fully bloomed,
Graciously keeping tender, my branches pruned:
Until my beauty fadeth to disdain.
I now, my life, do freely and humbly give
To be used of Thee as long as I shall live.