This I declare: As I trudge the road
Of pain-filled souls with a heavy load—
A pilgrim lad, with staff in hand, plodding along through the shifting sand;
A patriarch, with flowing beard, troubled o'er the ones he's reared—
Eyes fixed intent on a Sacred Page, truth filled with hope for his ripe old age.

A woman bent with the toil of years, saying her prayers through a veil of tears;

A mother grieved o'er life's hard start with a wayward son who has ached her
heart;
A father bowed with a heavy toll—sin eating away at his suff'ring soul;
A daughter wild—uncouth—unkept, slipping away from where she slept
Out into a night of sin and shame—permanent blot on her once good
name—
I pledge my God I will bear part load
Of those who struggle along this road;
I'll point a finger toward the skies
And say to each: 'There's paradise;
'Lift up your heads while the eons roll
'And purge yourselves from the travail of soul;
'Onto your face feel heaven's rain,
'Let it remove the sin and stain,
'While from the throne of grace on high
'A sweet contentment fills your sky.'