Tuesday, September 27, 2016


Oh to be like Thee, my King.
Oh that for Thy love I'd sing.
For a world of long dead sinners lost,
Thou hast borne that old infernal cross.

But were it not for that cup of wrath,
And endless love which no man hath,
That cross would crumble and dissolve.
'Neath the weight of sin unabsolved.

But grace hath yet abounded still,
Crushed Messiah, Creator killed.
On my behalf the savior died.
Lest my sin metastasize.

Rebuke, repent, remove my sins.
'Tis through the furnace gold is cleansed.
So wash me now, King, as alabaster
That I may know, and call thee Master.

Remove from me my lying lips,
And purge me in Thine holy scripts.
Displace me from my lustful heart,
And grant me, Lord a grand new start.

Guide mine hands to do Thy work,
Holy Spirit, fuel rebirth.
Thine own elect formed anew,
And heal me of my wicked youth.

Oh that Thy will should become mine own,
And when I err, Lord, prove me wrong,
And may Thy Word be on my lips,
And in mine heart, lest I forget.

I'll call to mind all Thou hast done
And follow Thine own risen Son.
But drag me when I dare not go,
And through me, Father, seeds do sew.

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