Where has my faith flown?
leaving me to the misery
when You are my own?
And still You have shone
like a mystery
that—can it be—I have never known?
When were the seeds sown?
Or have the vines of death,
present from birth,
slowly and deftly grown
to choke and leave me cold as stone?
How could I count demons’ breath
of more worth
than my LORD’s upon His throne?
This treachery is my own, my own!
Bend down, Oh Lord, in Your mercy
and by Your kindness
cover my sin in the blood that atones
for Your heart is well-known
to any with eyes to see.
Oh Lord, mend this mess
of me, rebuilding, with Your words, every bone
that I may stand forever on Your promises alone.