O LORD, You’ve seen the eyesore guide me—

mistaken glory strutting like an idol.

You’ve heard the swelling praises pride me

into fantasies beyond my title.

You’ve seen the fallen angels ride me

like soldiers guiding horses out to fight.

You’ve heard the shrieks the monster cried me—

deriding, whining, striking for my rights.

You’ve heard the voices change and chide me

when every gold it touches turns to sin.

And then You see the dark cloak hide me

in shame so thick no soul may enter in.

—

Yet You can thrust the blackness through,

O Truth, that brushes, rushes, gushes, moves me—

for there is no one else like You,

O Ruler from Eternity,

who, musing, choosing, knew the losing

before You brewed the world in oratory.

Your glory cuts my pride in two—

kind Lord who stooped beneath a cross for me.

In mercy pardon and renew

till all of me is Your humility.