On the sea shore resting there, a little boat was worst for wear.
Its bow was cracked, its sail was torn; it lost its battle with a storm!

It had seen many better days when once it rode upon the waves,
The silver surf lapped at its bow, but there its lying idle now!

Perhaps with just some skill and care it could be mended here and there
And then returned back to the sea just where the boat is meant to be.

And then I thought upon my state that I've become like this of late:
A trial, a storm had come before and left me 'beached' upon the shore!

Almost consumed by my own grief I cried to God and found relief
And comfort to my weary soul at once, at last, again made whole -

I placed myself safe in the hands of Him who knows and understands;
For He was able to restore my 'vessel' to the sea once more.