From the depths of the earth, you have revived me
and still do.
I am fearfully and wonderfully made,
and ever made new.
These lips are searching,
reaching,
groping,
for the right words to express
Love, the man through whom
I continually offer my sacrifice of
Praise.
Could many waters quench? Are you still reaching out?
Are your nail-scarred hands actually able stretch into my agony?
Behold, he comes in glory. And how does he step forward?
As a Lion? With the glory of Angels? As disembodied Word?
No. He is my Wounded Lamb.
All laud to this glorious victim
who laid himself down of his own accord.
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