Strength

Christ gives us hope
Beyond all doubt
And we give Him praise
For bringing us out

May the sun bring you new energy by day,
May the moon softly restore you by night,
May the rain wash away your worries,
May the breeze blow new strength into your being.

May you walk gently through the world and know its beauty
all the days of your life.

Your roots are set in barren land

Your existence seems cold and bitter

You stand alone and brave in a legendary graveyard

Yet your body is green with life

And the sight of you brings hope

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;


If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;


If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

For you my child, born to besieged city
bathed in blood, I bow my head.

Breathe deep, oh, child of war,
my gift to you this day,
the breath of life.

Draw hope, from freedom's gasp
inhale, for I mere mortal man,
exhale humanity.

I bear no arms against
the beauty at my breast;
bask in my benevolence.

I cradle you, treasured infant.
I, a surrogate, mother,
you rest, that I might bring you shelter.

Bring back my youth,
the child beneath these battered walls,
and not the prodigy of battle.

For bonded by a blanket,
soaked and stained, you and I,
our souls are still the same.

Courage or cowardice, truth or lies,
wisdom or folly, life or death;
war distorts.

God speed, my little one.
I protect you;
glory, grace and virtue,
personified through child and man.

Today, my precious ragged urchin,
you will live.
Compassion for the child
has conquered all.
The tragedy of life that brought us here,
Pales beneath the guiding
hand of God.

And this my innocent of war is victory.

You live, life lasts, war ends, time moves on.