Thy mercy I asked as I thought of Thee,
A Holy and Righteous God art Thou;
Worthless, there nothing art good in me,
The vilest of men; lowest, filthy and foul.
Thy grace not me that worketh here,
To bring me home to Thee at last;
Thy son my Lord, heaven’s Dear,
Upon His Cross to Thee I must.
May Thee keepest Thy fire at bound,
Lest it consume my sinful soul;
God, my Lord, my sin do not count,
May Thee Thy wrath on me withhold.
Let that grace that worketh in me,
Worketh in me reverence and fear;
As my gaze I set on Thee,
May Thee draweth me near.
A Holy and Righteous God art Thou;
Worthless, there nothing art good in me,
The vilest of men; lowest, filthy and foul.
Thy grace not me that worketh here,
To bring me home to Thee at last;
Thy son my Lord, heaven’s Dear,
Upon His Cross to Thee I must.
May Thee keepest Thy fire at bound,
Lest it consume my sinful soul;
God, my Lord, my sin do not count,
May Thee Thy wrath on me withhold.
Let that grace that worketh in me,
Worketh in me reverence and fear;
As my gaze I set on Thee,
May Thee draweth me near.
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4 comments:
Gosh! Did you write this?
Reminds me of characters in LOTR... once in a while, can get inspiration to sing and think up poems, lamentations... like legolas, aragorn and gandalf! DC
Can't help it bros, the sweet rapture of the spirit compels me to express in these pitiful words. I have to write it out, or else I will die ~ can't contain the awe, joy and the ecstasy in my feeble body.
Sorry for the flashes of John Piper here...
Before the very first trickle
Of sand seeps down the hour-glass,
Nor yet life graces the circle
Of earth, There unsurpassed –
Self-sufficient, Absolutely Free,
Sovereign LORD– Alone was He!
Yet fulfilled in Relational Unity
Conceived a holy conspiracy.
In wisdom, He fore-loved this mortal frame
With reflected glory, an aesthetic image
Though fallen, marred and in shame
For cosmic rebellion hid His visage.
Depraved nature held my will in shackle
Loathsome weed awaiting the sickle
Save for Grace Unfathomable
Chose me for Mercy Unconditional.
Gentle and strong are the Potter’s hands
In ways I cannot comprehend
He molds and changes the hearts of man
According to His will and plan
No higher purpose can there be
A vessel of honour He shapes me
Unflinchingly till the work is done
In pure conformity to the Son
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