Poetry

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These impure words I mix with pathos,
with the Spirit to make the most.
Not of me, but of my Lord.
His word and Name I've not ignored.
Given a gift that humbles and breaks me,
to my foundation it utterly shakes me.

To take this cup for my blessing
and for my flesh I'd be addressing.
And I would fail, to bitterness,
my soul would lose its good rest.
So I will pour out what You've given,
my love for You as I am driven.
Then You'll come, and we would meet.
For a time, for what is sweet.
I'm not worthy of what You send,
I dare not drink, my heart would rend.

Like David I'll take what You've given
and pour out as I am driven.
This good blessing's not for me,
but through me for other's need.
I cannot keep, cannot hoard,
that which is of the Lord.
This one gain I count as loss,
like the gain found in His cross.

So here am I, with full cup.
I will pour until You stop.
Joy is here as I turn over.
Yet I'm still full by Your order.

© 9-23-2010

2 Samuel 23:13-17; John 13:5; Philippians 2:17

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