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Must I get up and face the world when I’m depressed with all that’s wrong,
when all my plans are now unfurled, and doubts perplex me all night long?
I feel my mortal body ebb, my thoughts confuse, my muscles strain.
I’m caught in earth’s constrictive web where cynicism entertains.
Yes, I will rise, adorned in hope. I’ll trust my Savior, not my plight.
No blessings come to those who mope; one day all vice will be made right.
And though through many sorrows hurled,
each rocky path my God has pearled.
Janice Cooley Jones