I am sick with love for my Father, for His name, His ways and His kingdom. His voice strips the forest bare and makes the deer give birth. And in His temple everyone says, Glory. In the stillness of the early morning as drops of rain beat the ground, so too my soul drips and beats upon the heart of my God, my Lord Jesus the Christ.
Draw me, again my Lord. For yours is the table I shall eat from. Your fruit is sweeter than any others and your face doth shine more brighter than a million suns. Who can look into the eyes of majesty? Who can behold the eyes of fire?
Draw me precious Saviour. For I am yours.