A Rich Mullins song as timely today as it was when it came out back in 1993.

And the coal trucks come a-runnin'
With their bellies full of coal
And their big wheels a-hummin'
Down this road that lies open like the soul of a woman
Who hid the spies who were lookin'
For the land of the milk and the honey

And this road she is a woman
She was made from a rib
Cut from the sides of these mountains
Oh these great sleeping Adams
Who are lonely even here in paradise
Lonely for somebody to kiss them


And I’ll sing my song and I’ll sing my song
In the land of my sojourn

And the lady in the harbor
She still holds her torch out
To those huddled masses who are
Yearning for a freedom but still it eludes them
The immigrant’s children see their brightest dreams shattered


Here on the New Jersey shoreline in the
Greed and the glitter of those high-tech casinos
Some mendicants wander off into a cathedral
And they stoop in the silence
And there their prayers are still whispered

And I’ll sing their song, and I’ll sing their song
In the land of my sojourn

Nobody tells you when you get born here
How much you’ll come to love it
And how you’ll never belong here
So I call you my country
And I’ll be lonely for my home
And I wish that I could take you there with me

And down the brown brick spine
Of some dirty blind alley
All those drain pipes are drippin' out
The last Sons Of Thunder
While off in the distance the smoke stacks were belching back
This city’s best answer
And the countryside was pocked
With all of those mail pouch posters
Thrown up on the rotting sideboards of these
Rundown stables like the one that Christ was born in
When the old world started dying
And the new world started coming on

And I’ll sing His song, and I’ll sing His song
In the land of my sojourn