There once was a man who traveled the path of the lost.
He cared little for the world; it's fame and it's cost.
He had no provisions, nor protection from cold,
Just the Lord on his shoulder and his feet on the road.
Not long into his travels he came to a marsh,
Where the mud bubbled black, and the rain fell harsh.
There the Lord leaned down and whispered in his ear,
"Cross the marsh, my child, there is nothing to fear."
"I am weak, oh Lord," the good man cried,
But the Lord, on his shoulder, had no reply.
So with faith, the man said, "God, with you as my guide,
I can make it, I can make it, through to the other side."
Many steps later and across much time,
He came to a mountain that was too high to climb.
"Climb the mountain," said the Lord, loudly and clear.
"Climb the mountain?" said the man with a shake and a tear.
"I am weak, oh Lord," to his God, the man cried,
but the Lord, on his shoulder, had no reply.
So with trembling fingers and a full broken heart,
The man on his climb, did his journey impart.
"Lord with thee as my strength, my Savior, and guide,
I can make it to the top and down the other side."
Several steps later and many more years,
The man still traveled over happiness and tears,
When he came to a river that was twelve rivers wide
He knew he could never make it to the other side.
The Lord, on his shoulder, kissed and patted his head.
"Swim the river, my son," the Lord simply said.
"I am weak, oh Lord," the old man began,
But dived the frigid water, kicked his aged legs, and swam.
"With the Lord on my shoulder, I have traveled this road.
He hath given me shelter, and kept out the cold.
With thee, oh Lord, as my strength and my guide,
I can make, I can make it, to the other side."