When sickly sorrow settles like grave-dust
Do You, O Lord, quicken me with light,
That septic darkness spreading its malodor
Can no longer bury me, cold and sightless
To Your presence as pain and grief alone
I see — O, hear my cry, attend to me,
An earth-bound sinner, Spirit-compelled
To shed mourner’s garments for robes of grace,
In faith to dwell by streams of gladness
And taste the riches of Your providence.

Yet here beneath a surgeon’s hands I lay
Waiting for oblivion’s fumes to lift
Exposing bright light, weakened strength,
Unsteady limbs that must learn again old
Ways rebirthed through pain, and healing slow
As age decrees but Yours the hand
That raises me, Yours the voice that sings
Its strengthening balm of peace —

O Giver of immortal balm that from the Cross
Still does flow, may I abound in thankful joy
Of one who casts aside her shroud to give
To You, O Lord of love, this sacrifice:
The life that You have given me as patiently
I wait for You to send anew courage of mind,
Strength of heart that softened by Your
Mighty hand may rise unbroken to proclaim
That You, my God, my Portion, supply all I lack
Until my cup can hold no more of Thy Spirit’s
Holy splendor and shout, “To God be glory!”
As witness to Your faithfulness, this forevermore.

Amen.