Make me more like you and less like me.
Or rather, make me more the me
That you created me to be.
Help me, when I look at me, to see
The image of your son whose blood
Was shed to set this captive free.
He, the perfect paragon, oh he
Has overcome the curse of death,
Has brought to man a saving breath.
No one else can satisfy but thee.
You call to us with holy roar.
We worship you forevermore.
And thank you, Mister Lewis.
As I above your pages blink,
Your words encourage me to think,
To follow you right to the brink
Where truth can pierce right through us.
Yes, thank you, Mister Lewis.
And thank you, Mister Tolkien,
For he who finds you on these shelves
Will soon encounter orcs and elves.
Still my imagination delves
Into your stories so keen.
Yes, thank you, Mister Tolkien.
And thank you, Edgar Allan,
For books that bear the mark of Poe,
Though oft macabre, still serve to show
A master’s mixture: beauty, woe.
I feel the raven’s talon.
Yes, thank you, Edgar Allan.
And thank you, Mister Shakespeare.
Iambic pentameter tells
Your tales, and each with grandeur swells.
Of deaths and weddings, blood and bells,
You speak, and I lend my ear.
Yes, thank you, Mister Shakespeare.
The gospel is the poetry of truth,
For in it love and beauty condescend
From heav’n above to take the form of youth:
A righteous life to cover those who sinned.
Redemption’s plan was fixed before the fall.
The father, through his prophets, has foretold
The coming of the king who sounds the call
To all who under sin and death are sold.
Twas at the proper time and proper place
The son himself engaged man’s greatest foe,
And by his death the dead were made alive.
Alive again, the word of love and grace
Inaugurates his kingdom here below,
And all who know him evermore shall thrive.
Author of my being,
Singer of the song,
Watcher ever seeing,
I to you belong.
Better is your singing,
Higher are your joys,
Yet my ears are ringing
With a bitter noise.
Clear away obstruction.
Ev’ry hindrance, take.
Clamors of destruction,
Help my soul to shake.
Teach my ears to listen;
Tune my heart to yours.
Take this vessel, christen
On these earthly shores.
Can e’er a joy surpass the joy that comes
Upon the answer of a prayer once prayed?
Can earthly pleasures ever match the sums
Of treasures sent from heav’n once prayers are laid
Before the throne of grace? For thereupon
Sits one who rules with matchless love for men.
His mercies – fresh and new with ev’ry dawn.
His grace outruns the furthest reach of sin.
Why do we then so often turn aside
Instead of turning to our Lord of love?
Are we not beckoned to our Father’s side?
Are not all perfect gifts from him above?
The greatest gift of all he did not spare;
The cross is perfect proof that God does care.
Stained with sin but for your grace, I
Long to look upon your face. Thy
Never-failing word commands my
Failing heart to focus. Faith is
Crying, “Father, stoke us. Take this
Weakened will in your hands.” Of his
Life and death and life again, I
Sing, a breath midst strife and sin. Thy
Son resplendent understands my
War with this temptation. Such is
Life till death’s cessation. In this
Hope my salvaged soul stands, all his.
Let me not sit still and silent,
Let not shyness win,
Not while there is still a tyrant,
Not while there is sin.
Let not my excuses keep me
From the work ahead.
Lead me, Lord, to better share thee
With the blinded dead.
Let compassion and conviction
E’er compel my will.
Take my style of speech and diction,
With your message fill.
Let me never fall nor foment
Failure; let me please.
Let intention drive each moment.
Onward with the keys.
Life is but a vapor;
Time, a fading dream.
Length of days doth taper;
This – the common theme.
Ponder, then, your portance.
Perish not a breath.
Emphasize importance.
Think upon your death.
Contemplate eternal
Intersecting now.
See beyond external.
Vivify your vow.
Let the weight of glory
Grip your finite frame.
See the higher story.
Never be the same.
Do we then dare to look within
These hearts inhabited by sin
That we, by looking well, might win
Our lives from this dark gamble?
Or is the truth too much to take
For all the ways it makes us shake
When bones and promises do break
And lives are seen in shambles?
For when we peer behind the screen,
And our reality is seen,
We cannot claim that we are clean
But must confess conviction.
We spurned the fountainhead above
And killed the son who came in love.
Our hands still bear his blood like gloves.
Our innocence is fiction.
We dare not let ourselves believe
That we could e’er our sins retrieve.
Christ’s righteousness we must receive
If we would walk in freedom.
So take no chances with this life
By gambling yours ‘gainst certain strife.
Embrace the Word, the surgeon’s knife,
And leave the liar’s kingdom.
You spoke, and all that is began to be,
Yet you are uncreated, without end.
The voice with which you rule eternity
Is present in the whisper of the wind.
In sov’reignty, you raise and lower kings.
No power can contest your ruling right.
For you are he of whom creation sings,
The power that ordains the day and night.
And yet you clothe the flowers of the ground,
And yet you feed the sparrows of the sky.
You care for your creation all around
So much you sent your sinless son to die.
It matters not how much I may rehearse:
Your greatness, God, I cannot grasp in verse.
as i learn to walk 