O' Little child
On the street you do sleep.
Walking around
With your dirty bare feet.
I want to weep with you,
But I never see you cry.
How is it that you who are weak
Are stronger then I?
Here I am Lord. Take my hand; I can not do this on my own. God, I want to pour out my life for you. I do not want comfort or fame, riches or convenience. I want to be truly broken, to grieve for the hurt and pain that breaks your heart; I want to be a world changer. You have cried out and I am answering you. What can I do for you My God? Send me Lord to the hurt, the burdened and broken hearted. God send me to the east or west, north or south, send me near or afar. I want to serve you.
Manila |
2 comments:
amazing poem kayla!
keep up the good work,
Jesse
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