Though Man May Die

The scalpel in my Father’s hand
Doth fill my soul with hope and dread:
Hope for the good that he hath planned;
Dread for the loss of what is dead.
Afflicted with a fearful faith,
The foreign and familiar fused-
The actions of the holy wraith
Obscured by actions unexcused.
Yet I am not accused by God,
Despite the sins I still commit.
I fall before the meas’ring rod,
But, by his grace, he doth remit.
His right hand of omnipotence
No longer waits with wrath for me:
The God-man, breathing holiness,
Bore holes and wrath upon the tree.
Now he upholds with righteous arm
The souls now saved from Sodom’s fate.
He works his purpose through each harm
As for his work we watch and wait.
So banish now these fleshly fears
And fear the holy God most high.
His work, though wrought with many tears,
Brings life to man though man may die.

Advertisements

Feedback?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s