Our stumbling feet belong to Earth;
They're only made of clay;
But they're imperfect, so unfit,
To tred Heav'n's shining way.
Sometimes our weakened spirits fail,
And trembling, break and fall:
Our strength all gone, our hopes all dashed
Like dry leaves 'gainst a wall.
Our loving Father looks upon
Our flesh so frail and weak,
And even through our deepest pain
His voice doth gently speak.
"My child, I know thy suff'ring,
Thy disappointments, too.
I understand thine aching heart
As no one else can do.
But do not be discouraged;
Thy strength I will renew,
And thou shall rise on eagle wings.
New joys will come to you.
Hold fast, Dear One, be patient.
Life's plan is not yet done.
With victor's crown upon thy brow
I'll whisper, "Child, well done."
You'll have no need of wounded feet,
Once scarred from mortal plight;
But thou shall walk and run and climb
On joyous limbs of light."
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