Man of Sorrows

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Man of sorrows, carry mine,

Make of me a house divine

Where sandaled feet and robe of white

Can bind my wounded heart tonight.

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Seeking Specks

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All this work seeking specks on snow is chicken scratch,

for here I am,

grasping for crumbs under the table,

coveting the hem of Your garment

when I am an invited guest at Your banquet table.

I’m sewing a new patch on an old wine-skin;

rather than the patch,

I will put on my new robe,

garment of praise

more fitting for a Daughter of the King.

So dressed, I will rise up,

approach Your throne room with confidence,

and claim my prize –

more,

and more,

and more

of You

double portion,

spilling over,

uncontainable,

glory following glory.

This seeking specks

is for

the birds…