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232 pages, Paperback
Published August 5, 2019
Most silent of the Three, inspire
My mind with Pentecostal fire;
Let fall thy wing upon my ear
That I may learn to wait and hear;
Brush my lips with Thy gentle beak
And bring me to the crowds to speak,
But calm my breast, that I may be,
Most silent of the Three, like thee.
Can it be other after all these years?
Aren’t we aimed like arrows to our end?
We’ll let old Jordan roll to the Dead Sea,
Eating the silt of centuries, Jericho,
Jerusalem.
His lesson flared out of his person, as
A robe about the shoulders of a king.
Mingled with curses, the music of the smith,
With drops of sweat hissing upon the slab.
Why we were walking from Jerusalem
Is still mysterious to me.
What can I give the Lord that is His own?
When I was empty, I was filled with pride;
I reckoned sand and called it diamond-stone;
My blind heart was my guide.
He touched my eyes and gave them life to see;
He swept my heart and decked it like a throne;
He spoke a word and made my glory flee,
To fill me with His own.
In Him to lose a treasure is to gain;
Contempt is glory and the cross is bliss.
My gift is but to beg that I remain
Forever only His.