Praise #38, My Faith Draws Centuries of Thee

My faith draws

centuries of Thee, O King

Thou Lord of Heaven,

and all prevailing lands

 

Thy gilded ladder

leans on a cloud:

Thy saints ascend

into the grace manifold

lighting up errant galaxies

that flicker on forgotten trees

 

whisper Thy Word to me

melt it on my hard palate

and it shall become a salve

for all the broken shadows

littering the cracks

of dead pride

stretching into nothingness