I hear the promise whisper
and echo through the days;
it beckons from a distance
down all your winding ways.
You call me, but I linger
and stop to look behind:
What if the jar goes empty?
What if the jug runs dry?
Beyond all reassurance,
beyond the bounds of hope,
your whisper calls me further
and urges me to go
where there is no more plenty,
no solid ground to find,
where every jar goes empty
and every jug runs dry.
Oh, give me then the courage
to go on all unsure,
to catch the Spirit blowing
and let the sails unfurl,
to find when I am empty
and when my heart is dry,
that you are yet unfailing
and mercy still is kind.
Kate Bluett 