Oh Lord! How long shall I cry out and they will not hear?
How long will Thy fields mourn and Thine herbs wither,
For the wickedness of them that infest and consume therein?
Mine eye grows sluggish and wears of exhaustion,
And all my members languor, and are as a shadow;
I am warn away in Thine enemy's constant barrage:
Have mercy on me Lord, for my soul is consumed.
I stand; to all appearances, a stranger in the land;
Out of joint; out of harmony with the planned symphony;
The only one to be judged hungry in the feast of man.
All of Thine other living things strive only to be conformed
To their place, and the place they fill is sufficient for them;
Why Oh Lord do I yet contend, knowing I cannot belong?
Even the motes that gather in the morning sunbeam,
And life most minute, are one to the brim of their capacity.
Yet I stand here, a sad and solitary stranger, a lone crier;
Acquainted with grief, saddened by failure, torn with desire.
Falling prostrate, my flesh cries out for the Living God,
And my soul doth break in the longing for Thy healing touch.
Restore unto me the joy of Thy salvation, and renew me
With the balm of Thy Spirit; for the morrow is soon afoot;
And Thy fields ripen, even while under biting assault.
Then came the small, reassuring voice of the Holy One:
'I will restore health unto thee, and I will heal thee of thy
Wounds, saith the Lord, because, for Me, they made thee
An outcast, whom none desire, and no man seeketh after;
I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which
Thou shalt go; and I will guide thy steps with Mine eye;
For the storm cometh soon, and My fields cry for gathering.'
Renewed, restored, and reinvigorated by and in His presence,
My Spirit at once cried out, "Here am I Lord, send me."