By Rev. Lonnie C. Crowe
Wildly assailing,
Twisting, crackling brittle limbs,
The sleet-frenzy batters
My tumult of soul.
Scurry and rush assaulting,
Cold-life-frenzies pummel and bludgeon.
Ah,
Then softly, softly,
Through the tempest,
"Come, come unto me,
I'll give you My rest."
The storm without infuriates,
Raging more savage and chill,
But my souls rests in
His peace
Secure in His will.
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