I see the diamonds shine,
the high and sparkling shrine
my reputation might have had,
the feast of bread and wine,
the throne that could be mine,
but You have said my eyes are bad.

You know that I see gold
where finest dirt is sold,
and castles where mere ashes lie,
and feasts instead of mold,
and thrones where chains take hold
of would-be kings as slaves to die.

But Your realms, though obscured
in myopic veiling, blurred,
yet strong, eternal, glorious rise.
So correct my vision, Lord,
with the lenses of Your Word
until the day You heal my eyes.