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where grace was poured
He was resting by the well
under the scorching Samaritan sun
when I approached Him.
“Give me a drink,” He said
as I laid down my water pot in astonishment
at the place where grace was poured
He perceived my heart
then announced my iniquities
as a sharp sword pierced my soul,
shame trickling down my face
onto the dusty earth
at the place where grace was poured
yet He knew my soul’s deeper thirst
and offered me living water,
not from this ancient well
but a mysterious source
“Sir, give me this water so that I may never get thirsty,” I told Him,
and His spring welled up unto eternal life
at the place where grace was poured
“I who now speak with you am He.”
the Messiah, the Anointed One,
the Christ of whom the ancient prophets foretold,
stood before me, the shamed one of Sychar
now filled with the living water
that many needed to know of
so I went into the city to tell them,
leaving my water pot behind
on this not so ordinary day
at the place where grace was poured
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