The Life and Works of Mark DeBolt
Sunday, October 23, 2011
My Crutch
Your cross my crutch—
I call it such
whene'er I talk
of your abode;
I cannot walk
upon that road
without its aid.
My debt you paid;
my pain you felt—
each sin a sore,
each doubt a welt;
you made my "more!"
into your loss,
my crutch your cross.
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