Poetry for the Glory of God

Our days on this earth are as the chaff;
They are dried and blown in the wind.
But our Lord in Heaven rules with the staff
And rod of iron to rule for aft'
And our souls, from our bodies, ascend.

Pure are Your ways, Lord dressed in white.
Dark as red blood is your shadow.
Power and majesty are Thy might,
Yet we have found favor in your sight.
Such mercy on us do You bestow.

We were condemned; we are sinners all.
Why save what has been made unclean?
You take the weak and make them stand tall;
You cause the wicked to rise and fall.
You are just with mercy; we're made clean.

So I ask You my one desire;
That You grant me freedom from sin
That I may serve You with a fire
And wallow no more in the dark mire.
My wish, Lord: that you my heart defend