Contributed by Robert Jaro
On a hot summer’s day
They were making their way
Up to the Pinochle Trail;
The Packsaddle’s Horn,
Looking far and forlorn,
Was the goal they had come to assail.
The slopes became steeper,
The valleys were deeper,
when what to their gaze should appear;
But that fabulous Horn,
Rising high in the morn,
Declaring there’s not much to fear;
Yet steep as it seems,
And all beyond means,
There’s a way up, the Pastor decried;
A shimmering beacon was guiding the deacon,
Towards the path up the slope he had spied;
The Lord who led Moses,
And never reposes
Was there to act as a guide;
He’s done all the labor
Now like a good neighbor,
The Lord meets you the rest at his side;
It’s not by our trying,
Or doing or dying,
It’s just by the life that he gave -
He wants us to know,
And just rightly so,
It’s us that he wanted to save.
By Robert Jaro
7-11-2002
