For indeed, I am a very poor lover.
The Song of Songs know.
The verses exult the meaning.
But I know not how—
I am a very poor lover.
Tell me, Lord,
How do I love You?
What can I do to praise You?
What can I do to please You?
My acts are like rags that have touched too much blood.
They are stained,
What use are they anymore?
How do I love you when all I can give is spoiled?
Perhaps one day the question will be obsolete,
The words and their wond'rings prove insignificant,
Washed away by the flood of your confidence,
So sweet and awesome to bear.
But for now, my dear, dear, Savior,
While I wander in confused abyss,
I am at a pass that opens to too many conflicting ways.
Is this where I take the road less traveled?
Is this where I tread that narrow gate?
Is it by faith alone—
When my eyes
Can no longer be of use—
That I will finally and truly be loving You?
Oh show me, show me,
So even when I stumble,
I may still have this right.
That even when I’ve forgotten,
My being is so ingrained with this that my heart—
Drunk with You—
Shall still be loving You.