To My Wife
BOUND IN GRATITUDE
Oh, How oft I do forget,
The blessing that you are to me.
What greater ills my life would be beset,
If you weren’t there,
To lean upon, to share my tears,
As together on our quest we go,
Hand in hand our Lord to see.
This race though, that we seek to run,
Without a friend my stumbling would prevail,
But for your prayers,
That Christ’s grace for me avail,
Despite my talk, despite my walk,
His mercy doth He richly pour,
Upon this object of travail.
More than in the spirit doth thou sustain,
With tender glance and thoughtful prose,
You make me feel of royal blood,
In a world of thistles you’re my rose,
With fragrant scent, with petals unspent,
Only one greater love doth there abound,
And that only God Himself can know.
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