My heart now aches to hear your burden's woe.
I cry Poet! I morn at what I hear.
True prayers for healing from my tongue now flow.
Oh Poet if you please would lend your ear.
This Poet does not always write of joy.
He often writes of sadness and of pain.
For every happy feeling will grow cloy;
So then when all is gone Love will remain.
The Poet feels your hurt in every line.
He wipes His eyes as he re-inks his pen.
Tears stain the Poet's page. They're His and mine.
I mourn and pray as He begins again.
In perfect verse He writes us all our part
And then He writes of His own crying heart.
The tears are blood and water on the leaf.
There from a heart so heavy that it stopped.
Twas pierced with all our wretched sin and grief,
And all the pain you have He did adopt.
He wrote Himself a part to touch it all.
He had to show He knows the pain you feel.
So grief and suff'ring He allowed befall
Apon Him. Stamping nails down as His seal.
Now know that He is standing by your side
As one who's felt your pain and understands,
And know that though it's by this pain He died,
He beat that death! So rest here in His hands.
It hurts. I know, but now you need not fear,
And also know that friends are always near.
I am no poet yet He writes through me.
Please know that all my good is really Him.
I pray that when you're near me you will see
His Love for you stretched out in every limb.
I pray: in my embrace you'll feel His arms,
His tenderness, His lullaby of peace.
He knows of all that comes to you and harms.
But He has promised you that this will cease.
I pray that in my words His voice is heard
A voice that whispers everything's ok.
So let us now entrust the Poet's Word.
I love you all and for you all I pray.
Now rest in Him for everything's ok.
We'll rest in Him for everything's ok.
I cry Poet! I morn at what I hear.
True prayers for healing from my tongue now flow.
Oh Poet if you please would lend your ear.
This Poet does not always write of joy.
He often writes of sadness and of pain.
For every happy feeling will grow cloy;
So then when all is gone Love will remain.
The Poet feels your hurt in every line.
He wipes His eyes as he re-inks his pen.
Tears stain the Poet's page. They're His and mine.
I mourn and pray as He begins again.
In perfect verse He writes us all our part
And then He writes of His own crying heart.
The tears are blood and water on the leaf.
There from a heart so heavy that it stopped.
Twas pierced with all our wretched sin and grief,
And all the pain you have He did adopt.
He wrote Himself a part to touch it all.
He had to show He knows the pain you feel.
So grief and suff'ring He allowed befall
Apon Him. Stamping nails down as His seal.
Now know that He is standing by your side
As one who's felt your pain and understands,
And know that though it's by this pain He died,
He beat that death! So rest here in His hands.
It hurts. I know, but now you need not fear,
And also know that friends are always near.
I am no poet yet He writes through me.
Please know that all my good is really Him.
I pray that when you're near me you will see
His Love for you stretched out in every limb.
I pray: in my embrace you'll feel His arms,
His tenderness, His lullaby of peace.
He knows of all that comes to you and harms.
But He has promised you that this will cease.
I pray that in my words His voice is heard
A voice that whispers everything's ok.
So let us now entrust the Poet's Word.
I love you all and for you all I pray.
Now rest in Him for everything's ok.
We'll rest in Him for everything's ok.
