1
Prod me with Your loving hands,
Stir me from my deep impasse.
I long to flee this stagnant rut;
My soul, my prison, deadened lot,
Which end is just to taste Your wrath;
So set me on the narrow path.
Thorns and thistles may line this road
But it leads me to the mutual abode.
Stir me from my deep impasse.
I long to flee this stagnant rut;
My soul, my prison, deadened lot,
Which end is just to taste Your wrath;
So set me on the narrow path.
Thorns and thistles may line this road
But it leads me to the mutual abode.
Lift me up with Your mighty hand
Above this frenzied earthly land.
Set me on the mount to see
What the world can offer me;
Till I see the vanity from on high
And earthly desires I bid goodbye
And set my eyes on You.
Above this frenzied earthly land.
Set me on the mount to see
What the world can offer me;
Till I see the vanity from on high
And earthly desires I bid goodbye
And set my eyes on You.