It matters not if cherished friends,
On whom I leaned in rain,
Have wounded me by word and deed,
And left me in great pain.
What matters is, Can I forgive,
Again and yet again? It’s not,
Have they been true to me,
But, Lord, have I been true to them?
’Twill matter not when evening comes
How rough the road I’ve trod,
If only I have walked with Him,
And led some soul to God.
Roland Ruga