There is hope yet.
We’re not done marching.
We’re not done standing.
We’re not done believing.

There is hope yet.
We are not tired of standing atop Hope’s breast,
Rising with hands lifted high at her every breath,
Reaching to clasp hold of Freedom and draw it close.
We are not tired of holding her hand.
We are not tired of crying her tears.

There is hope yet.
We are not at our end.
Our future lives.
There is light in that place.
Come and see.
We are not far off.

There is hope yet.
We will not grow weary of praying.
We will not grow weary of singing her song.
We will not grow weary of believing.

There is hope yet.

© 2015, The Scribe’s Heart Publishing

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