If I should write a poem to you my Lord,
With ancient metric rules and sacred rhymes,
I would to this my thankful heart put walls,
And would not know to start nor how to end…
If I should sing a song to you my Lord,
With vocals trained alone on measured dots,
I would be dumb and voiceless in the night,
And deaf to all the singing in the world…
If I should come to worship you my Lord,
With tie and suit and smartly dressed alone,
I'd be a cast away, a beggar in the slums,
And would not know the beauty of your love…
If I should hope for life and heaven too,
Through wealth or deeds of hands and feet,
I would be better yet unborn and still to be,
And never know the depths and reach of grace…
But You who spoke and shaped the distant worlds
Who heard the cries of slaves in Egypt's fields
And with a mighty hand destroyed its power
To free the chosen seed of faithful Abe…
You who willed to the father of men, a Child,
When the shadow of death on him had fallen -
Is kin to all in every state and place and colour:
I bow to thee- Oh Lamb of God, Redeemer King!