Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Crippled

For other versions of this work, see Crippled.

CRIPPLED

WHY hast Thou bound my feet,
Then bade me toil ceaselessly after Thee?
How should a thing so broken, incomplete—
Ah, how should I, Lord! plant these faltering feet
Where shifting sands of Earth so baffle me?

Have I not set thy limits? Who should know,
Better than I, what sloughs I lead thee through?
Mine is the power to hinder—and make free:
⁠⁠⁠Walk thou with me!

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