“Wellspring without End,” Ensign, Aug. 1999, 52
Now from my well I fill yet one more pail,
Pretending I am wellspring without end.
Within I wither as my source drains dry
From sprinkling lives of those I love. I try
To water needful friends and never fail
To irrigate up to backyard fence rail.
But garden spot expands until I tend
Whole fields with my few drops and even lend
My nearly empty pitcher. Crops are small;
They thirst—I simply cannot do it all!
Wrung dry, I search for peace through weary prayer
In grateful confidence that God is there.
How good to feel the healing waters roll
And rise to seep again into my soul.