There are days this race seems too long,

An endless road winding on and on

 

I look ahead, no end in sight,

Nothing to relieve me of this plight

 

Oh when will I rest these weary bones

And aching muscles that cry and moan?

 

My heart, it labors, my lungs, they burn,

Yet from this mission I cannot turn

 

I do not beat my chest in vain;

I carry on, my gait the same

 

My mouth is dry; my feet are worn;

I feel their eyes and burning scorn

 

I will not turn to left or right,

For straight ahead I fix my sight

 

Weary feet pound a barren floor,

Following in footsteps of saints before

 

I do not rest, not night nor day,

Just press ahead to lead the way

 

I blaze a trail for souls to follow

That they may be filled, no longer hollow

 

I cannot rest nor cease to stand,

‘Til Zion is the praise of the land

 

I know ahead there is a line,

And I will cross it in due time

 

At last I’ll rest upon the ground

And receive my prize, a majestic crown