The Servant Scribe

If I could write a psalm, a word, as glorious as you
And bring all those souls that read each line to glory as you do
Then I would not stop,
I would not falter,
I would not rest my pen
For I would serve you Lord until your time has come again.

If I could heal the body and the mind as you have healed.
And in each and every stanza, I paint an image for a love that they can feel
Then I would know without one doubt the life I have is not so surreal

But as it is my Lord, I am a servant without purpose
I live it seems to regurgitate in words this life that seems a circus

A man who has been saved
by you
Who will praise you till my dying breath
For the new life you have given me and for saving me from death

I may not be the scribe I long to be for you
Or bring your flock in from the cold as well as others do
But I will serve as best I can, to warm their hearts and souls
And maybe I can reach out in a way that strikes them deep and strikes so bold
So that one day Father, God a flame for them is lit,
And when they are asked "what of YOU"?
They reply "Oh! I get it"!