Hold On

Hold on, ride on, keep moving, don't quit, don't be weary, don't be tired, don't let the people or things around you wear you out. Hold on to your faith, for FAITH does see darkness.

Jesus And Gravity

I'm to the point where it don't add up
I can't say I've come this far with my guitar on pure dumb luck
That's not to say I know it all
Cause every time I get too high up on my horse I fall

Cause I've got
Something lifting me up
Something holding me down
Something to give me wings and keep my feet on the ground
I've got all I need
Jesus and gravity

But I'm as bad as anyone
Taking all these blessings in my life for granted one by one
When I start to thinking it's all me
Well something comes along and knocks me right back on my knees
And I've got...

Something lifting me up
Something holding me down
Something to give me wings and keep my feet on the ground
I've got all I need, Jesus and gravity

He's my friend
He's my light
He's my wings
He's my flight

I've got something lifting me up
Something holding me down
Something to give me wings and
Something to keep my feet on the ground
I've got all I'm gonna need
I got Jesus, I got Jesus, 

I got something lifting me up
Something holding me down
Something to give me wings and keep my feet on the ground
I've got all I'll ever need
Cause I got Jesus and gravity

I got something lifting me up
Something holding me down
Something to give me wings and keep my feet on the ground
I've got all I'll need
Cause I've got Jesus and gravity
Jesus, I've got Jesus, I've got Jesus
He's my everything
He lifts me up
He gives me wings
He gives me hope
And He gives me strength
And that's all I'll ever need

As long as He keeps lifting me up
He is my life
He is my God
He is my wings
He is my flight
Lift me
I've got Jesus, I've got Jesus
And that's all I need

To an Athlete Dying Young BY A. E. HOUSMAN

The time you won your town the race

We chaired you through the market-place;

Man and boy stood cheering by,

And home we brought you shoulder-high.

Today, the road all runners come,

Shoulder-high we bring you home,

And set you at your threshold down,

Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away

From fields where glory does not stay,

And early though the laurel grows

It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut

Cannot see the record cut,

And silence sounds no worse than cheers

After earth has stopped the ears.

Now you will not swell the rout

Of lads that wore their honours out,

Runners whom renown outran

And the name died before the man.

So set, before its echoes fade,

The fleet foot on the sill of shade,

And hold to the low lintel up

The still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled head

Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,

And find unwithered on its curls

The garland briefer than a girl’s.