Create me my God,
and husband my soul.
Plant my feet in your garden,
and lead me where you will.
I have been sick in my bed,
but I rise to praise you.
In pain and sorrow I’ve wandered—
Why have I been struck?
Why is every step sharp?
Where is the strength of my hands?
Why do my legs tremble?
My arms grow numb?
My vision has become blurred,
and my teeth ache.
But you have given me words,
new breath, and a tongue to speak.
Another day, and the sickness still clings,
but I will walk with You.
Tale Told 