Sunday, January 5, 2014

Sunday Evening

Day is dying in the west
Evening is touching earth with rest

The echo of old hymns
Still seep into my mind
The tuneful fervency of
Blind belief

Blessed assurance
Jesus is mine

Assurance was more
Assuaging the fear
For Jesus was not mine
He was with someone else

Just as I am
Without one plea

Oh I pleaded
It was no use
And just as I am
Was never good enough

For grace has brought us safe thus far
And grace will lead us home

I left home long ago
I’ve wandered far
Unlike the prodigal
I’ve not returned

I have only learned
I’m good enough
What would I do?
With blind belief

Yet, sometimes
On Sunday evenings
When evening is touching
Earth with rest
And the echo of the past is heard

My soul is wistful
For the blind assurance
Of my youth

The certainty of home

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