Just as waning wicks seek completion,
my heart aches for You, O Lord.
In stillness, in silence, in fragrant clouds;
Thy words and my words rest unveiled.
Why me, my King, do you reveal
Thyself? These eyes, these ears sense
only feebleness.
But worth was never in question.
Desert was never your cause.
A broken and contrite heart,
O Lord, you will not spurn.
No comments:
Post a Comment