013 Red Thread
18-19

There was a woman named Ivy who seemed to hold in her mouth all of the sounds of Pauline’s soul. Standing a little apart from the choir, Ivy sang the dark sweetness that Pauline could not name; she sang the death-defying death that Pauline yearned for; she sang of the Stranger who knew... Precious Lord take my hand Lead me on, let me stand I am tired, I am weak, I am worn. Through the storms, through the night Lead me on to the light Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me on. When my way grows drear Precious Lord linger near, When my life is almost gone Hear my cry hear my call Hold my hand lest I fall Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me on.¹

For Jeannette