With my face toward the Son, I rise,
Knowing that no race is won
Without some defeats along the way
So that I remain humble enough to pray
To my Savior for strength, courage and the will
To stand, to fight, to hold on to the very end
No matter how tired I get or have been.
Facing forward, teeth bared, I move on
To the next lap of life's arduous race.
I gain strength through my mind's image of His face;
It was bruised,battered,bloodied for me,
A wretch born in sin, and shaped in iniquity.
This race is not for the fleet of foot, the swift,
But for those who endure to the very end
By looking to Jesus,Savior, Comforter,Redeemer ,and Friend.
(c) 010: This, and other poems by Barbara Henry,is protected by copyright laws.
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