I THE STONE
(Luke 3: 7-18)
I am stone, hard, unpolished, rough,
trying to claim special favour and place.
O Lord, can you change my flint heart enough
that it become a fertile field for grace?
I am the tree whose raw fruit often proves
to be unsweet to others. Can you take
your love’s blade to my selfish roots, move
me, graft your grace into all that I make?
I the grain shell-bound; any useful seed
hidden in me, Lord, requires your sifting.
Will you remove my chaff that I might feed
your hungry, any whose heart needs lifting?
Yes, bathe me, flame me with your love, I pray,
that, by your Spirit given life anew,
I may light bright fires of your sacred praise
and live to serve your will in all I do.
Copyright © 2015 by Andrew King