theblackdostoyevsky

In Spirit and Truth you require our worship.

From Sunday to Sunday my voice shall be heard.

The communion of saints kindle a fire

that speaks in my heart ’til it blazes and burns.

A hymn sings my heart on the highways and aisles.

In the kitchen I cook up a spiritual song.

I dream of your goodness and smile in my sleep,

remembering that breath as this next comes along.

If I’ll have no break in your blessing this day,

I’ll be careful to worship while I’m in the way.

Come hell or high water, joy or dismay,

my halleluYah you’ll hear all day, every day.

I’m thankful for salvation. I’m thankful for grace.

I’m grateful for last; in you that’s first place.

I’m thankful for health, for strength and right mind.

I’m grateful to forsake my ways for thine.

I’ll ponder the paths of my footsteps to peace,

my loins girt with Truth and the Word in its sheath.

These shadows terrify in death’s valleys dark,

but with this helmet and shield I shall never part.

Ain’t no place safe from idolatry’s stain.

The whole world’s in wickedness, and I’m part to blame.

So the best way I show me that you neevr change

is to walk with my eyes closed, blessing your name.

I won’t wait ’til the band strikes the tune.

Nor cry my lament at the pale of the moon.

Sundays too far for me to bide my malaise, so

I prefer worship while I’m on my way.