Pacific grace bestows my God
upon the weary way
of travelers to Paradise who
stumble through the day
It is to Him we sinners go
to find the comfort wrought
in presence of unfailing love
where suffering is taught
Beleaguered souls accumulate
the refuse of ill will
proficient in the marking of
detraction from the fall
We shall resound our accolades
when distant shores are reached
and ever clear becomes
the way invective is impeached
Peace is my God; devoted He
to fond pursuits and dreams
of happiness, the bliss of heaven
eternally to be
Amy Whittlesey O’Neill
October 27, 2003
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