If doubts and tears and anger and fears Are what must rain my day, Then let me cope with sorrowful hope That I'm learning to effectually pray. If love is forgotten and my heart is rotten And despair stinks every breath, Then let me remember your mercies are tender Though casting the shadow of death. If "man of sorrows" means endless fatiguing tomorrows And the fog in my head turns to acid, Then let me rejoice to be named with the worthy; Who reap tears ripened Crystal River placid. If my wounds maim for good these eyes can't frame Then let me hold to the hand unseen; Feeding my ration of besetting sanctification, Through the drowning sea, To purge I scales that looked like they were clean. If my priority isn't Christ-like conformity And this burner world boils with tribulation Then Comfort my memory; it's for not against me. When time's book shuts, yours shall be my exultation. If I resent the trials you've sent Then break my natural enmity, With gratitude-sprouting-attitude Supplanting fig leaves with humility.
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