Like unto a mountain stream,
Are showers of His grace,
That cooleth down the thirsty sod,
The trav'lers sun - parched face.
His dear grace oft' blankets us,
As covers keep up warm,
From hurtful barbs that can't get in
Through His encircling arms!
Things that were impossible
With God not at the helm,
Become with Him the probable,
And well within our realm!
Yes, that which was so hard before,
Without His gift of grace,
So oft' is easy when you give
To God His reigning place!
~ Lynn Fenimore Nuzzi
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