To do, sweet Lord, Thy will, is my desire
Fan Thou my smould'ring embers 'til they catch Thy fire
Enlarge my self-gorged heart - gouge out the gross
Self-pity, greed and pride and sloth and fuss.
Enlarge it Lord, 'til Thou
Mayst find for Thee a place
Worn down by tears of bloody pain
Racking Thy face,
And take in me, O Lord, Thy heavenly throne
Cast out my selfish will and make Thine own
To fit my place which Thou hast carved for Thee
O Lord, reign there and leave no room for me.
1985
There are few friends on the Way to freedom; most people would rather endure comfortable bondage in the arms of the System in the wide valley far below than experience the danger liberty offers. There, on the narrow path on the mountain it just keeps getting narrower until we have ditched every burden that drags us back and spend more time crawling on our knees than we do walking.
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