O Soul, Sorrowed Soul,
Look up to Him that treads the way,
Look up to Him who will not stay
Far off, but in the night will pay
The debt you owe and use your pain. Pray,
And He will once again make day
To glow on horizon’s bend and
Grant the peace the serves to mend,
To calm, contend and keep at bay
The fears that foment. Yet they will lay
Down and bow to Him who thunders, “Still.”
And wills the miracle: trust, obey,
With surety, glad-faced, without dismay.
O Soul, Weary Soul,
Look up to Him who knows your frame,
Look up to Him who makes His name
To be a balm for wrung-out shame-
Filled mothers, wondering if His claim
On them will hold at story’s end, again reclaimed!
We’ve heard it said, “He isn’t tame.”
And we believe, the evidence showing in our lame
And injured gait that was His aim.
His plot line, our fate, to suffer maim
And bear the heat, the fire, the flame.
So, dross distilled, with clearer voices to proclaim:
Alleluia to the God who came, who reigns.