Do you offer consolation and relief?
Or are you power, Lord, power to move the levers of the world?
Woe is upon me; I form a curl and mewl. But you cause me to rise, to walk, to act.
I plow the field, and the village is later fed. I dig a trench in the rains do not flood the granary. I turn a lathe and my neighbors have legs for the table.
You move me, Lord, to fashion what does not yet exist. Let me uncurl myself and walk away from woe.
Thy will be done.