How shall I praise thee Lord?
Not proficient in either lute nor lyre
There is a slow burn within me
As if warmed by a cozy fire
It appears and draws near
Sometimes distant and I feel the cold,
When overwhelmed by fears
I pray when prompted
Pray when it is the last thing I want to do
Find strange comfort in being assailed
More ill at ease when all seems to be going too well
I will praise Thee Lord
In fair and in foul
When head spins and body is wracked in pain
When unable to stand
Be at peace face down on the ground
With eyes closed depart…
On journeys with no end and no start
Heart will soar in you…
Surprised and amazed by the miraculous hidden within the mundane
Something a sinner such as I is not accustomed to
How shall I praise Thee Lord?
You are there.