With joy
For You we wait
Knowing
What pleases You
Is faith.
Faith, that fragile herb
Springs forth at Your Word
Bowing its head down
Straining to hear the sound
Of Your glory under Heaven
And round
The rock of truth
It clings
And midst the clods
Blooms and sings
Your praises under Heaven
Though as neat
As a mustard seed
By it You meet
Our mountain of need
And make our joy
Complete
Under
Heaven.
RWOz2
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