Compassion by D.E. Young


(Mark 1:29-31)

You saw her where she lay
Ablaze with fever’s flame.
You were compassionate
For love of Your own Name.

You drew near to the sick
For Your health unafraid.
You took her feeble hand
And her infection stayed.

You raised her up to stand,
The fever did depart,
So she began to serve
With all her loving heart.

So take, my Lord, my hand.
In misery I lie
With sin and shame engulfed
Almost enough to die.

Because You gracious are
Not that I merit it
I pray You raise me up
And all my debt remit.

And grant me every day
To new repentance know,
To overcome myself
Your graciousness to show.

I cannot save myself.
Therefore to You I flee.
For rescue, Lord, I wait.
Be merciful to me.

July 2016


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Filed under Christian life, Doctrine, Poetry, Theology

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