I walked a mile down the hill,
Far from the tree, far from your will.
I shed this skin, a broken reed,
And donned a mask that would not bleed.
I walked a mile to the shore,
Proclaiming riches, shunning poor.
I chose my course and would not shift,
I raised the sails and set adrift.
A wayward wanderer, tossed about,
Filled with fear, consumed by doubt.
In spite of you, I stifled pleas.
In spite of me, you calmed the seas.
This broken spirit, prone to roam,
You gently lifted and carried home.
With wounded pride, back on dry land,
I changed my course and took your hand.
I walked a mile up the hill,
So much in need and bleeding still.
And in that place where we oft we meet,
I laid my burdens at your feet.
Now when my heart begins to stray,
Back down the hill and far away,
Tethered to this tree, I’ll pray,
Sweet Jesus, help me find my way.