Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Clear Eyed

Clear Eyed

They call window to my soul my eye.
And it needs so very much, more as I die,
To be able and pure, and like
Your clear Eyes.

What I see, both inside of me,
And though my window does trouble me,
I’m afraid not that I see too clearly,
But that I look so much

My eye is open, but rarely truly clear,
And that I do fear
Is a matter on which You have spoken,
And every so clear is Your Speech.

The mote and the beam, and what may be seen
Do seem to have set men in motion,
The things that we do and our ideas of truth
Have room to improve in devotion to You

But try as I might and I do,
Though weakly and very to much in frequently,
The smudges and filth,
Laying there at my sills, I often let hinder my view.

Messiah, Oh Clear Eyed One,
Such distance I see looking out from my soul
It must be traveled each day until Thy Day,
Should be eased by expelling my doubt,
And the sins of sheer pride that roil inside,
On the window to my soul.

Not only in me, but in others I see,
The lacking of clearness forebodes,
That my judgments of men, and the love You command,
And the change you must find in our souls,
Are works yet not been made perfect.

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