A Spiritual Reflection
I am a poor pilgrim of sorrow, I’m tossed in dis wide worl’ alone,
No hope have I for tomorrow, I started to make heav’n my home.
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child, a long way from home.
Sometimes I am tossded an’ driven, Lord, Oh, sometimes I don’t know where to roam.
I heard of a city called heaven, I’ve started to make it my home.
Sometimes I feel like I’m almos’ gone, a long way from home.