[A poem dedicated to the praise of the Lord and to the edification of His Church; to praise and worship the great High Priest who has given His life for us, and still sits on His throne interceding on our behalf. Amen.]
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O how my soul cries out,
In this season of suff'rings.
My tears paint my face,
With tales of what a bitter cup brings.
But I know of One who suffered more,
And His love is never fleeting,
For He sits upon His throne,
Forever interceding.
O how Thou have loved me!
Wretched one I am!
Thy grace has spilled blood o'er me,
Without which I would be damned!
Thy eternal judgement I will see,
But rest with this great assurance;
Christ has shed His blood for me,
And is my great endurance.
O' my Savior, O my King,
Of Your Glory I will sing!
In Your blood, I have seen,
That You are my eternal plea!
O' King of Glory, O Son of God,
Forever wash me in Thy blood!
O Suffering Servant, O Lord of Peace,
Never let Thy blest salvation cease!
Thou gave me eyes to see Thee,
And ears to hear as well.
By Thy grace I will struggle,
And in the end all will be made well.
So despite my tears and sadness,
I will learn to say:
'Blessed be the LORD,
Who gives and takes away.'
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