ENFOLDING LOVE
I know not what his hand may hold of joy or pain; Of wintry blast or chilling cold — of loss or gain; I only know that come what may, His love enfolds me all the way. And I shall be content with life In grief or bliss; Shall lift my song amid the strife, If only this — Be mine, be mine, that come what may, His love enfolds me all the way. Frederick T. Roberts
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