Poetry

Rest

What sweet relief, this peace of mine,
 Seated at my father’s knee;
 Weary no more as I recline
 And put my trust in Thee.
 His wounded hand upon my brow,
 Bids mournful sorrows cease;
 I gaze upon his nail-pierced feet;
 My harbored pains release.
 He paid the price, a Father’s love
 That beckons children home;
 Come rest, dear one, against His knee
 Where none is left alone.
 -Kari Rimbey
 Psalm 46:10




 Image - Ian Sane
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