IS IT LIKE JEREMIAH?
His clothes coloured rust as of mud
Clings to his affable spirit, worn by
derision at times, day to day alone.
The prophet's friends left him adieu,
Abandoned by the coast swept aside
Tears flow from his eyes and gazed
At heaven, "Where are you Lord?"
Followed what pleases Him, no vain
But now, tired of moaning of pain---
Laid down his body on the ground.
With gentleness as he slept, weary
As angels guarded him in slumber
A great prophet, trials he did bear!
All rights reserved: Cynthia Abegail