My heart is worn. I feel my lack
Of passion, mourn my emptiness:
A worn shell tossed up on the shore,
With no life in me to express.
Too tired to grieve, as grieve I should,
The ragged hole where joy once glowed.
My tears are dry as the salt wind;
I feel the grit where once they flowed.
And yet, when every strength is gone,
Because my eyes are turned from You,
You do not leave me thrown aside;
You lift me up, and You renew
My fragile hope, the ragged breath
Of my desire for holiness -
Not by Your wrath, but with the touch
Of love, in healing tenderness.
Therefore, from helpless weariness,
I will arise, borne up by grace,
Ready to open up my lips;
In stumbling joy to speak Your praise.