I am sick I am sick
and the clock will not tick
each second I seem to be aging
as I lay in my bed
there’s a pulse in my head
like up there a war someone is waging
I want to not think
from this horror to sink
for from leper I want to be healed
even death would be better
than life’s sickening fetter
oh time will your scythe not you wield
I’m longing for heaven
were there’s only good leaven
but its Christ to live so I move on
oh blessed that this way
his great love cannot sway
I will trust that and hold to his hand
No comments:
Post a Comment