Wedding Dress

by Derek Webb

If you could love me as a wife
And for my wedding gift, your life
Should that be all I'll ever need
Or is there more I'm looking for?

And should I read between the lines
And look for blessings in disguise
To make me handsome, rich, and wise?
Is that really what you want?

I am a whore, I do confess
I put you on just like a wedding dress
And I run down the aisle
I'm a prodigal with no way home
I put you on just like a ring of gold
And I run down the aisle to you

So could you love this bastard child?
Though I don't trust you to provide
With one hand in a pot of gold
And with the other in your side

I am so easily satisfied
By the call of lovers less wild
That I would take a little cash
Over your very flesh and blood

Because money cannot buy
A husband's jealous eye
When you have knowingly deceived his wife

O Sacred Head, Now Wounded

Attrib. to Arnulf of Leuven
Trans. J.W. Alexander

O sacred Head, now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, Thine only crown;
How pale Thou art with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn!
How does that visage languish, which once was bright as morn!

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered, was all for sinners' gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression, but Thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior! 'Tis I deserve Thy place;
Look on me with Thy favor, vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

Men mock and taunt and jeer Thee, Thou noble countenance,
Though mighty worlds shall fear Thee and flee before Thy glance.
How art thou pale with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn!
How doth Thy visage languish that once was bright as morn!

Now from Thy cheeks has vanished their color once so fair;
From Thy red lips is banished the splendor that was there.
Grim death, with cruel rigor, hath robbed Thee of Thy life;
Thus Thou hast lost Thy vigor, Thy strength in this sad strife.

My burden in Thy Passion, Lord, Thou hast borne for me,
For it was my transgression which brought this woe on Thee.
I cast me down before Thee, wrath were my rightful lot;
Have mercy, I implore Thee; Redeemer, spurn me not!

What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, dearest friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever, and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never outlive my love to Thee.

My Shepherd, now receive me; my Guardian, own me Thine.
Great blessings Thou didst give me, O source of gifts divine.
Thy lips have often fed me with words of truth and love;
Thy Spirit oft hath led me to heavenly joys above.

Here I will stand beside Thee, from Thee I will not part;
O Savior, do not chide me! When breaks Thy loving heart,
When soul and body languish in death's cold, cruel grasp,
Then, in Thy deepest anguish, Thee in mine arms I'll clasp.

The joy can never be spoken, above all joys beside,
When in Thy body broken I thus with safety hide.
O Lord of Life, desiring Thy glory now to see,
Beside Thy cross expiring, I'd breathe my soul to Thee.

My Savior, be Thou near me when death is at my door;
Then let Thy presence cheer me, forsake me nevermore!
When soul and body languish, oh, leave me not alone,
But take away mine anguish by virtue of Thine own!

Be Thou my consolation, my shield when I must die;
Remind me of Thy passion when my last hour draws nigh.
Mine eyes shall then behold Thee, upon Thy cross shall dwell,
My heart by faith enfolds Thee. Who dieth thus dies well.

Little Gidding (Pt. III)

[Pt. II here]
by T.S. Eliot

There are three conditions which often look alike
Yet differ completely, flourish in the same hedgerow:
Attachment to self and to things and to persons, detachment
From self and from things and from persons; and, growing between
                     them, indifference
Which resembles the others as death resembles life,
Being between two lives—unflowering, between
The live and the dead nettle. This is the use of memory:
For liberation—not less of love but expanding
Of love beyond desire, and so liberation
From the future as well as the past. Thus, love of a country
Begins as attachment to our own field of action
And comes to find that action of little importance
Though never indifferent. History may be servitude,
History may be freedom. See, now they vanish,
The faces and places, with the self which, as it could, loved them,
To become renewed, transfigured, in another pattern.

Sin is Behovely, but
All shall be well, and
All manner of thing shall be well.
If I think, again, of this place,
And of people, not wholly commendable,
Of no immediate kin or kindness,
But of some peculiar genius,
All touched by a common genius,
United in the strife which divided them;
If I think of a king at nightfall,
Of three men, and more, on the scaffold
And a few who died forgotten
In other places, here and abroad,
And of one who died blind and quiet
Why should we celebrate
These dead men more than the dying?
It is not to ring the bell backward
Nor is it an incantation
To summon the spectre of a Rose.
We cannot revive old factions
We cannot restore old policies
Or follow an antique drum.
These men, and those who opposed them
And those whom they opposed
Accept the constitution of silence
And are folded in a single party.
Whatever we inherit from the fortunate
We have taken from the defeated
What they had to leave us—a symbol:
A symbol perfected in death.
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
By the purification of the motive
In the ground of our beseeching.

[Pt. IV here]

O Thou That Hear'st When Sinners Cry

by Isaac Watts

O Thou that hear'st when sinners cry,
Though all my crimes before Thee lie,
Behold them not with angry look,
But blot their mem'ry from Thy book.

Create my nature pure within,
And form my soul averse to sin:
Let Thy good Spirit ne'er depart,
Nor hide Thy presence from my heart.

I cannot live without Thy light
Cast out and banished from Thy sight:
Thine holy joys, my God, restore,
And guard me that I fall no more.

Though I have grieved Thy Spirit, Lord,
His help and comfort still afford;
And let a wretch come near Thy throne,
To plead the merits of Thy Son.

A broken heart, my God, my King,
Is all the sacrifice I bring;
The God of grace will ne'er despise
A broken heart for sacrifice.

My soul lies humbled in the dust,
And owns Thy dreadful sentence just:
Look down, O Lord, with pitying eye,
And save the soul condemned to die.

Then will I teach the world Thy ways;
Sinners shall learn Thy sovereign grace;
I'll lead them to my Savior's blood,
And they shall praise a pard'ning God.

O may Thy love inspire my tongue!
Salvation shall be all my song;
And all my powers shall join to bless
The Lord, my strength and righteousness.

God, Be Merciful to Me

Anonymous, from The Psalter (1912)

God, be merciful to me,
on thy grace I rest my plea;
plenteous in compassion thou,
blot out my transgressions now;
wash me, make me pure within,
cleanse, O cleanse me from my sin.

My transgressions I confess,
grief and guilt my soul oppress;
I have sinned against thy grace
and provoked thee to thy face;
I confess thy judgment just,
speechless, I thy mercy trust.

I am evil, born in sin;
thou desirest truth within.
Thou alone my Saviour art,
teach thy wisdom to my heart;
make me pure, thy grace bestow,
wash me whiter than the snow.

Broken, humbled to the dust
by thy wrath and judgment just,
let my contrite heart rejoice
and in gladness hear thy voice;
from my sins O hide thy face,
blot them out in boundless grace.

Gracious God, my heart renew,
make my spirit right and true;
cast me not away from thee,
let thy Spirit dwell in me;
thy salvation's joy impart,
steadfast make my willing heart.

Sinners then shall learn from me
and return, O God, to thee;
Saviour, all my guilt remove,
and my tongue shall sing thy love;
touch my silent lips, O Lord,
and my mouth shall praise accord.

In Christ Alone

by Stuart Townend

In Christ alone my hope is found;
He is my light, my strength, my song;
This cornerstone, this solid ground,
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.
What heights of love, what depths of peace,
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease!
My comforter, my all in all—
Here in the love of Christ I stand.

In Christ alone, who took on flesh,
Fullness of God in helpless babe!
This gift of love and righteousness,
Scorned by the ones he came to save.
Till on that cross as Jesus died,
The wrath of God was satisfied;
For ev'ry sin on him was laid—
Here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground his body lay,
Light of the world by darkness slain;
Then bursting forth in glorious day,
Up from the grave he rose again!
And as he stands in victory,
Sin's curse has lost its grip on me;
For I am his and he is mine—
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

No guilt in life, no fear in death—
This is the pow'r of Christ in me;
From life's first cry to final breath,
Jesus commands my destiny.
No pow'r of hell, no scheme of man,
Can ever pluck me from his hand;
Till he returns or calls me home—
Here in the pow'r of Christ I'll stand.

There Is a Fountain

by William Cowper

There is a fountain filled with blood
Drawn from Emmanuel's veins;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood
Lose all their guilty stains.

The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
And there have I, though vile as he
Washed all my sins away.

Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood
Shall never lose its power
Till all the ransomed church of God
Be saved, to sin no more.

E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme
And shall be till I die.

Then in a nobler, sweeter song
I'll sing Thy power to save,
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue
Lies silent in the grave.

Lord, I believe Thou hast prepared,
Unworthy though I be,
For me a blood-bought free reward,
A golden harp for me!

'Tis strung and tuned for endless years
And formed by power divine,
To sound in God the Father's ears
No other name but Thine.

Walking on Water

by Nate Wilson

Under the burned-out skies of dark December
Lonely visions passed me by
It was a voice I heard that whispered softly
And carried me away
To a place of fires and fallen angels

And in my final hour all was golden
Burned the buildings to the frozen ground
All that I saw was changed at once before me
And high above the fields
I was filled with glorious delusions

Found today burning in the rafters
As the walls began to fall
Hauled away, a wall of angry faces
'Round the instrument of gods

If I see Saint Lucilia walking on the water
I'll turn and walk away
And it's a fine line between the work of devils and of angels
And in the end it's all the same

After the flames died down I remember
Alone imprisoned by the force of hands
I waited 'til silence came to lay my head down
And in my darkest dreams
I caught sight of the threads of my unmaking

A Mighty Fortress Is Our God

by Martin Luther
Trans. by Fred­er­ic H. Hedge

A mighty fortress is our God,
A bulwark never failing;
Our helper He, amid the flood
Of mortal ills prevailing:
For still our ancient foe
Doth seek to work us woe;
His craft and power are great,
And, armed with cruel hate,
On earth is not his equal.

Did we in our own strength confide,
Our striving would be losing;
Were not the right Man on our side,
The Man of God's own choosing:
Dost ask who that may be?
Christ Jesus, it is He;
Lord Sabaoth, His Name,
From age to age the same,
And He must win the battle.

And though this world, with devils filled,
Should threaten to undo us,
We will not fear, for God hath willed
His truth to triumph through us:
The Prince of Darkness grim,
We tremble not for him;
His rage we can endure,
For lo, his doom is sure,
One little word shall fell him.

That word above all earthly powers,
No thanks to them, abideth;
The Spirit and the gifts are ours
Through Him Who with us sideth:
Let goods and kindred go,
This mortal life also;
The body they may kill:
God's truth abideth still,
His kingdom is forever.

There You Go

by Aaron Tate

Is this the strange feeling
Of you working all to good?
'Cause I am so confused
I don't even ask for what I should

When I asked for, and deserved, stone
You broke and gave your body as bread
Even the stone that dropped down
When rolled away, spoke of the one who bled

There you go working good from my bad
There you go making robes from my rags
There you go melting crowns from my calves
There you go working good of all I have
Till all I have is not that bad

When I asked for, and deserved, a serpent
You gave a net full of fish
And even the serpent that told the lie
When lifted high, foretold the gift

For you so loved the unlovable
That you gave the ineffable
That who so believes the unbelievable
Will gain the unattainable

Jeremy

by Eddie Vedder

At home, drawing pictures
Of mountaintops
With him on top
Lemon yellow sun
Arms raised in a V
And the dead lay
In pools of maroon below

Daddy didn't give attention
To the fact
That mommy didn't care
King Jeremy the Wicked
Ruled his world
Jeremy spoke in class today

Clearly I remember
Picking on the boy
Seemed a harmless little punk
But we unleashed a lion
Gnashed his teeth
And bit the recess lady's breast
How could I forget?

And he hit me with a surprise left
My jaw left hurting
Dropped wide open
Just like the day
Like the day I heard

Daddy didn't give affection
And the boy was something
That mommy wouldn't wear
King Jeremy the Wicked
Ruled his world
Jeremy spoke in class today

Try to forget this
Try to erase this
From the blackboard

Jeremy spoke in class today

How Deep the Father's Love for Us

by Stuart Townend

How deep the Father's love for us
How vast beyond all measure
That he should give his only Son
To make a wretch his treasure
How great the pain of searing loss
The Father turns his face away
As wounds which mar the chosen one
Bring many sons to glory

Behold the man upon a cross
My sin upon his shoulders
Ashamed I hear my mocking voice
Call out among the scoffers
It was my sin that left him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished

I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection
Why should I gain from his reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom

Sola Gratia

by James Montgomery Boice

I once was rebellious, corrupted by sin
Pursuing the devil's dark path
Oblivious, dead to the state I was in
An object of God's dreadful wrath

But God who is rich in compassion and love
Not leaving my soul to the grave
Has given me life; born again from above
By God's sov'reign grace I've been saved

God lifted me up to the heavenly realms
Where seated with Christ I am free
In ages to come he will show me more grace
So great is his kindess to me

Since grace is the source of the life that is mine
And faith is a gift from on high
I'll boast in my Savior, all merit decline
And glorify God 'til I die

Yet now I am living with work to be done
For I am God's workmanship too
Created in Christ with a race to run
Which God has ordained me to do

East Coker (Pt. IV)

[Pt. III here]
by T.S. Eliot

The wounded surgeon plies the steel
That questions the distempered part;
Beneath the bleeding hands we feel
The sharp compassion of the healer's art
Resolving the enigma of the fever chart.

Our only health is the disease
If we obey the dying nurse
Whose constant care is not to please
But to remind of our, and Adam's curse,
And that, to be restored, our sickness must grow worse.

The whole earth is our hospital
Endowed by the ruined millionaire,
Wherein, if we do well, we shall
Die of the absolute paternal care
That will not leave us, but prevents us everywhere.

The chill ascends from feet to knees,
The fever sings in mental wires.
If to be warmed, then I must freeze
And quake in frigid purgatorial fires
Of which the flame is roses, and the smoke is briars.

The dripping blood our only drink,
The bloody flesh our only food:
In spite of which we like to think
That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood—
Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.

[Pt. V here]

Beneath the Cross of Jesus

by Elizabeth C. Clephane

Beneath the cross of Jesus
I fain would take my stand
The shadow of a mighty Rock
Within a weary land;
A home within the wilderness,
A rest upon the way,
From the burning of the noontide heat
And the burden of the day.

Upon the cross of Jesus
Mine eye at times can see
The very dying form of One
Who suffered there for me:
And from my stricken heart with tears
Two wonders I confess,
The wonders of redeeming love
And my unworthiness.

I take, O cross, thy shadow
For my abiding place:
I ask no other sunshine
Than the sunshine of his face;
Content to let the world go by,
To know no gain nor loss;
My sinful self my only shame,
My glory all the cross.

When I Survey the Wondrous Cross

by Isaac Watts

When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God!
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.

See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

His dying crimson, like a robe,
Spreads o'er His body on the tree;
Then I am dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

My Jesus, I Love Thee

by William R. Featherstone

My Jesus, I love thee, I know thou art mine;
For thee all the follies of sin I resign.
My gracious Redeemer, my Savior art thou;
If ever I loved thee, my Jesus, 'tis now.

I love thee because thou hast first loved me,
And purchased my pardon on Calvary's tree.
I love thee for wearing the thorns on my brow;
If ever I loved thee, my Jesus, 'tis now.

I'll love thee in life, I will love thee in death;
And praise thee as long as thou lendest me breath;
And say, when the deathdew lies cold on my brow:
If ever I loved thee, my Jesus, 'tis now.

In mansions of glory and endless delight,
I'll ever adore thee in heaven so bright;
I'll sing with the glittering crown on my brow:
If ever I loved thee, my Jesus, 'tis now.

Alas! and Did My Savior Bleed

by Isaac Watts

Alas! and did my Savior bleed
And did my Sovereign die?
Would He devote that sacred head
For such a worm as I?

Thy body slain, sweet Jesus, Thine—
And bathed in its own blood—
While the firm mark of wrath divine,
His Soul in anguish stood.

Was it for crimes that I had done
He groaned upon the tree?
Amazing pity! grace unknown!
And love beyond degree!

Well might the sun in darkness hide
And shut his glories in,
When Christ, the mighty Maker died,
For man the creature's sin.

Thus might I hide my blushing face
While His dear cross appears,
Dissolve my heart in thankfulness,
And melt my eyes to tears.

But drops of grief can ne'er repay
The debt of love I owe:
Here, Lord, I give my self away
'Tis all that I can do.

Where I Began

by Aaron Tate

The grass looked greener on the other side
So I tried to snatch myself from your hand
Caught a boat to anywhere but Nineveh
And you know, I got spit back on dry land

Give me purity and give me continence
But oh no, not yet
Like a coin hiding in the corner trying not to be swept
I was trying not to be swept

Kicking against these goads
Sure did cut up my feet
Didn't your hands get bloody
As you washed them clean?

Here I am again, back where I began
Try as I may, I can't get away from you
All these roads that lead me to roam
Bring me back home
Here I am again, back where I began

So you have yourself your ninety-nine
Isn't that enough for you?
Still you followed me to the shadowed valley
Carried me on your shoulders, too

I've done the work of Sisyphus
Thinking that I could get over this hill
But the one thing I can't get over now
Is the force of your will

I Repent

by Derek Webb

I repent of my pursuit of America's dream
I repent of living like I deserve anything
Of my house, my fence, my kids, my wife
In our suburb where we're safe and white
I am wrong, and of these things I repent

I repent of parading my liberty
I repent of paying for what I get for free
For the way I believe that I am living right
By trading sins for others that are easier to hide
I am wrong, and of these things I repent

I repent of judging by a law
That even I can't keep
Of wearing righteousness like a disguise
To see through the planks in my own eyes

I repent of trading truth for false unity
I repent of confusing peace and idolatry
By caring more of what they think than what I know of what we need
By domesticating you until you look just like me
I am wrong, and of these things I repent