The water of the stream edged dry and parch.
The sun scorched heavy and drew what was left,
Till only one tiny streak of water flowed.
The stream grew sparse and bleak,
Life was scarce and he pondered in despair,
“This day could be my last as I run bone dry.”
Every day he thought it’d be his last,
But he had enough to carry for the day.
He had enough to carry on!
Oblivious and bewildered at his sustenance per diem,
Till he heard the breeze whisper a message,
“I am the Fount Perennial; you will not run dry.”
The water that flows through you is not your own,
But it is birth out of my soul unending.
Be faithful only that along the path designed it flows.
Take heart and persevere, you will not run dry.
For when the time is due, a thriving flood shall overflow,
Till then, I will give you enough to carry on.
I will give you enough to carry on!