How bleak the desert places lie! No spear of green nor dew-fringed flower Beneath the bright bowl of the sky To bless a single burning hour! 'Twas thus my heart unfruitful lay, A wilderness, a barren land, Until I found the Truth, the Way— Until I took my Father's hand. His tender mercies lead me where The grass of meekness, wet with dew, Now clothes the earth in pastures fair, And leaves of healing bloom anew.
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