The Ungrateful Blood Donor Recipient

Oh, if we knew the power of that precious blood,
what would we do?
Would we sit on folded hands?
Surely we would shout a mighty shout of thanks.
Or would we revell in our own demands?
When waters of life wash away hope,
would we trust the solid rock that stands?
Dost the Rock of Ages build our house?
Or we labor in vain upon the sands?

Oh, if we knew the power of the Blood of Christ,
what we would say!
Would to God, the lips of man be fresh with humble praise.
That glad refrain from our hearts would shine out like noonday.
"The perfect blood of the Lamb that washes all sin away."
Oh, how oft and ernest we would pray
if we really knew the power of the blood today.

Oh, if we knew that cleansing power,
how it would tear down the walls of apathy.
How we would trust that blood.
How we would live in that healing flood.
How thankful we would ever be for that precious blood.
If we only knew.
If I only knew.
If they only knew.

The Tower

Inside the name of Christ, the tower,
I am preserved.
Inside the name of Christ, whose power
I surely don't deserve.
Let me hide, Son of Man,
in the power of your name.
Let me refuge when the storms
come crashing in.
The tower of protection waits
for whom it may impell.
The song of redemption calls
for my weary soul.
This Tower stands as a beacon where
all of man can journey there.
I know not how or why or when
but I know my soul will hide therein.

Rags to Riches

My righteousness is filthy rags,
but you have made them clean.
It took the precious lamb and the cross he drags
to take away my sin.
The robes of white I wear today
are not of my own dye.
They're preparing me for the day
I meet my saviour in the sky.

The Voice is greater than the tree

Human excellence, like the dollar, is only as good as the belief in its validity. Knowledge puffeth up like inflation. Just doing "good" is like paper money not backed up by gold. Without the gold it is nothing but delusion. Delusion that you are close enough.

Human Abasement is what it is deemed. We draw different lines that are never equal but always crossed. To say something is evil is to imply that you know good for yourself. As if good is a friend and evil is that friend's worst enemy. Evil hates good and good hates evil; we all hide behind the leaves we choose.

But we have forgotten who has created the tree. Life is not about the tree but about communion with the voice who spoke all things to existence. We hide behind our notions of good and evil. We all mask ourselves with the belief in ourselves and what we do. We have become afraid of the Voice. Afraid of its wisedom. Afraid of its judgement. Afraid of its power. Afraid it will expose our cowardess and human frailty. Hiding from this perfect communion would be to deny our very purpose. And I, for one, am done hiding.

I am done hiding.