When imprisoned by lies rooted in Satan
And sin has dominion,
And my weak flesh is testimony to my failure before men;
When the iron door of transgression bears false witness,
And there be many risen against me with weapons of war;
I feel Your Spirit descend over me and hover over.
So I uplift my soul with prayer, I raise my arms.
Though my voice is silenced by pain, shame, and shyness,
And my appearance is despicable in the world,
I know that you will examine my grimy soul;
And finding it wanting You will polish it like a coin
Found in the dirt and caked over with tarnish.
Dear Jesus, what wondrous power in that flowing blood
Staining that horrendous cross of pain and desperation--
That I can be cleansed by superhuman sacrifice
And heartbreaking loneliness beyond comprehension!
How can I come with drained cup for more?
Am I not like one who held the hammer and the nails?
Who like me cast a spear with almost deadly aim?
No matter if the grail be of gold or forged of lead,
Because of me and those like me the innocent dead
Became in our guilt the scapegoat for evil.
Never to rest in peace, not a place to lay His head.
It is not easy though with belief to beg relief
And thus approve the execution I want to say
I would have fought against that day.
And if You had said let it be done I might have said
Let me go in Your place instead or I might have
Accused You of the sin of suicide or insanity,
Of man's greatest humility but supreme Divine vanity.
