(to the tune: “What Child is This?”)
What child is this, who laid to rest
on Mary’s breast is sleeping?
The purity of maturity
is one that’s quick and fleeting.
If I am Christ the King
to this world born in apathy;
who am I becoming
and therefore who is He?
Tender and soft were my first born steps,
the virgin mother’s hand held firm.
Now I tread on glass and tacks,
to the whore who I’ve known since birth.
This is my identity;
Up to my neck in quiet insecurity;
Can I be sure of anything,
O’ Babe, O’ Son of Mary?
Teacher I am left to dry,
Your apprentice writes in his mind again.
Thy faithfulness will bring me nigh,
But who’ve I have been since then?
My Un-faithful ways
Are chaff and must be burned away;
But once the fire has done the glaze
What there will remain?
Two end stanzas:
(don’t fit the line requirements)
Savior, O’ coming King,
Thou knowest all things;
Will I lose my own integrity
For the sake of losing me?
Savior, O’ coming king,
Thou knowest all things;
Who am I becoming!
TAKE THE FOCUS OFF OF ME!!!
Comments
Post a Comment