Lord, make me new as the sunrise,
Lord make me pure as the rain,
that I might be as free as the wind,
or honest as pain.
Lord, make me whole as a mountain,
by placing Zion in my heart.
If I wish to walk with you,
I guess I must be set apart.
A life spent chasing the whispers
that reach my heavy ears
would not be a story ruined,
or a waste to all my years.
If now until my death I walk,
in lonely hedgerows before the sun,
I will not say I wished for better,
if at last my race is won.
There are heroes in the stories
that wander, righteous, filled with grief.
Theirs is sadness, theirs is mourning,
in the hours before the dawn.
Theirs is triumph, theirs is laughter,
theirs is love, and endless song.
No comments:
Post a Comment