But Who Am I To Thee?

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I am a novelty to most,
A treasure to but two or three,
One face amidst history’s host,
But who am I to thee?

I am an upright man to most,
A sinner to but two or three,
One saint amidst the sacred host,
But who am I to thee?

I am unworthy, more than most,
A traitor to the one-in-three,
One soul amidst a sinful host.
Oh, who am I to thee?

I am a son because the most
August of sons rose morning three
With freedom for the captive host,
For he was truly thee.

I am yours to the uttermost,
A slave no more to two or three,
One voice, known, singing with your host.
E’er more am I to thee.


Photo by youssef naddam on Unsplash

A Witness

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Do flowers honor Father more than I?
For they do not rebel against his name,
Never abandon purpose to proclaim
Another glory. Ev’ry passerby
Is bidden by the bud to look beyond,
To glimpse the author of the grand design.
I point as well, but I demand a fine,
Some profit for the prophet. Still, the frond
Is ever faithful. Though its days are few,
Great kings cannot compare to its array,
A testimony from the soil and sod.
Look closely and detect the divine hue
And find the same at work within your clay.
All beauty bears the signature of God.


Photo by Milos Tonchevski on Unsplash

Image

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.