Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd anything.
"A guest," I answer'd, "worthy to be here";
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, the ungrateful? ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"
"Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.
-LOVE (III)
by George Herbert
Who is like the Lord?
What love is this?
What sort of God are You?
What king would ever die for a criminal in His land?
What all powerful being would desire my presence at His table?
Would the president of the United State ever live in the slums of America washing feet and getting spat on?
How curious Your love.
There is nothing like it.
I scarce can take it in.
What a price You've paid to be in the presences of such scum?
What a price I am unwilling to pay to be in the presences of such Glory?
The chasm prohibits my eyes from rising.
Yet here You are creator of these two tiny organs pleading their elevation.
My heart turns violently inside of my chest.
It becomes clear to me why none may look upon You without the blood of the lamb.
My heart couldn't handle the bridge of love across this chasm of filth.
This body of mine would cease to function due to the monstrous magnitude of Your righteousness.
But what do You require of me for such a price?
What do you ask of me?
I will do whatever task.
Whatever mission You require.
To sit and taste?
It cannot be.
Who is like the Lord?
My mind tumbles and spins.
There is no such thing as a free lunch in the land that I come from.
But here is no lunch but rather a feast my soul can compare to nothing.
Yet it isn't the spread that causes such a response
But rather the one at the table pleading my company.
I have made mistakes!
More than the hairs on my head, the count which You are familiar.
Oh how I'd rather You know the former's debt,
yet this grace that washes me keeps no record of such.
As I bring my stained record to You figuring there some invitation error
I find it in my hands washed white as snow!
FOOL!
I shout at my very Creator.
You claim to be the Judge well I seriously question Your integrity.
If You let me in this banquet feast You're only tarnishing Your perfection of judgement.
Then as I examine my King's perfect image I note the two holes in His palms.
Again I am hushed by my very own soul.
Damn it I think why did You go and do something so stupid like that?
Why did You have to go and ruin Your perfection just so You could sit in the company of scum?
Then I am reminded of who is my judge.
It isn't my opinion that matters.
Rather it is Yours.
Through Your lens I am far from scum.
Like an infant son with a soiled diaper no parent would dare entertain thoughts of scum.
Well I still don't understand!
You claim to be wise and just
Yet love and grace seem to speak a different language than wisdom and justice.
But why me Lord?
Why me?
I Have Made Mistakes - The Oh Hello's
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd anything.
"A guest," I answer'd, "worthy to be here";
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, the ungrateful? ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"
"Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.
-LOVE (III)
by George Herbert
Who is like the Lord?
What love is this?
What sort of God are You?
What king would ever die for a criminal in His land?
What all powerful being would desire my presence at His table?
Would the president of the United State ever live in the slums of America washing feet and getting spat on?
How curious Your love.
There is nothing like it.
I scarce can take it in.
What a price You've paid to be in the presences of such scum?
What a price I am unwilling to pay to be in the presences of such Glory?
The chasm prohibits my eyes from rising.
Yet here You are creator of these two tiny organs pleading their elevation.
My heart turns violently inside of my chest.
It becomes clear to me why none may look upon You without the blood of the lamb.
My heart couldn't handle the bridge of love across this chasm of filth.
This body of mine would cease to function due to the monstrous magnitude of Your righteousness.
But what do You require of me for such a price?
What do you ask of me?
I will do whatever task.
Whatever mission You require.
To sit and taste?
It cannot be.
Who is like the Lord?
My mind tumbles and spins.
There is no such thing as a free lunch in the land that I come from.
But here is no lunch but rather a feast my soul can compare to nothing.
Yet it isn't the spread that causes such a response
But rather the one at the table pleading my company.
I have made mistakes!
More than the hairs on my head, the count which You are familiar.
Oh how I'd rather You know the former's debt,
yet this grace that washes me keeps no record of such.
As I bring my stained record to You figuring there some invitation error
I find it in my hands washed white as snow!
FOOL!
I shout at my very Creator.
You claim to be the Judge well I seriously question Your integrity.
If You let me in this banquet feast You're only tarnishing Your perfection of judgement.
Then as I examine my King's perfect image I note the two holes in His palms.
Again I am hushed by my very own soul.
Damn it I think why did You go and do something so stupid like that?
Why did You have to go and ruin Your perfection just so You could sit in the company of scum?
Then I am reminded of who is my judge.
It isn't my opinion that matters.
Rather it is Yours.
Through Your lens I am far from scum.
Like an infant son with a soiled diaper no parent would dare entertain thoughts of scum.
Well I still don't understand!
You claim to be wise and just
Yet love and grace seem to speak a different language than wisdom and justice.
But why me Lord?
Why me?
I Have Made Mistakes - The Oh Hello's