My Cup Runneth Over
My Lord, Your Grace, be engraven upon my knees, hands and face.
I do not dwell upon Thy grief, but to find mine own hallowed relief.
My heart shines now, I do adore and bow, causing my wool to be exquisite white.
Thy life in mine, I humbly vow, My Grace, Thou art my true delight!
Grace is a gift of the strength of God,
Bestowed on all those who look upon,
The Lord lifted up, who grants redemption,
Given through faith, unto our salvation.
Jesus took the fault, eternal punishment, pain, and fall,
Bearing with it, all the trials, turmoil, and withdrawals,
Accumulated and manifest, because of our falls.
The Perfect Lamb, slaughtered in shame, pain, and blame for all.
Nothing so excruciating, could ever be done,
For souls whose fatal corruption in enmity, could ever be won,
But by the saving, sacrificing, righteous love of the Holy Son.
Do not ever mock what God has wrought in agony, for fun.
Grace, where art Thou now, my inspiration and power?
Why hast Thou turned Thy face, against my brow?
Art Thou gone, or dost Thou now bow down before dumb idols for naught?
Could it be my unanswered, under achieved, wasted life, sought for but not caught?
May I find my course’s reason,
But for mankind’s very own treason?
Could the way before, though it be not mine,
Be for consumption, of both heart and mind?
For heaven’s sake, please, feed me a supper’s plate,
Which won’t leave me filled with hate,
But instead, bring me love and retreat,
Which just might, through might, I might eat.
For I am empty, eaten, through starvation’s words,
Strategically placed near the slaughter’s cross, cursed.
I await my eternal turn, to follow mine, a martyr’s tale,
To defy all the rest of my life, remaining true, yet to unveil.
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