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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