Saturday, September 5, 2009

Prostrate Poem

We would tremble in the presence of the Lord our mighty King
And be deafened by the roaring of his wondrous sheltering wings
To be blinded by the glory of the radiance of His face
And our hearts will race to countenance His righteousness and grace
We have known of His embrace.

Devastated by His kindness and consumed by holiness
Purified by righteous searing fire as His Name we confess
We have swallowed dust and ashes as our selves we have abhorred
Quaking in the courtyard of our Holy, Holy, Holy Lord!
His name is to be adored!

We have rested by still waters after burning in our bones
We have understood the fullness of having Him alone
We have known the mystery of those who're wholly satisfied
While yet craving more and more of a life that’s crucified.
As to ourselves we’ve died…

This is no place of easy comfort and familiarity
No place to look to others, and no place for apathy
For if we remain untouched and not grieved by our gross sin
We’ve not tarried in his presence for we have not entered in.
This is not where we’ve been

We have apprehended mercy in its full unvarnished form
We have learned to drink from fountains overflowing from His storm
We have wept with tears of gratitude while trembling in fear
And we're longing for the day when we won’t depart from here
We would ever be drawn near.

In the mountain and deep valley he Has drawn us to his side
While we awe at dread perfections where we're called now to abide
We have lived beneath our privilege for far, far, far, too long
We desire to stay enraptured as we sing life’s simple song.
And to sing our whole life long

Anthony Foster
September 5, 2009

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