In the Sculptor's Hands

You have shown me mercy
That You might hear me say
Own me, hone me
Until I, for You, shine 
O Sculptor of my soul
Take hold of me, define
In Your solid grip, transform me
To Your likeness, conform me
That I reflect Your brightness
Like the moon reflects the sun
Melt away the dross
As I look upon the cross, 
Upon Your Son
Purify me with Your piercing look
As I gaze intently in Your book
May I see Your vision, my mission
To not sit upon the shelf 
And be full of myself 
But to offer up my jar of clay
For Your purposes, not mine
Fill me, use me, O Sculptor divine 
September 17, 2016

Zion's Future Glory

Sing, barren woman;   Give birth to jubilation   For through your offspring's seed   Will come the longed-for consolation...