I need the God who died for me

To cause my in-turned eye to see

To see the face of love and need

And not withdraw from those who bleed

My own scars healing, I should turn

And lift up those whom others spurn

Unmindful of abraded skin

My soul should seek the soul within

To grasp the hand that once, like mine

Had yet to encounter Love divine

And floundering, still sought to know

On whose best pathway they should go

Our own, though bright, earned pointless gains

And none to sanctify the stains

Rejecting pleasures briefly sweet

We find contentment at His feet


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