14Dear Father
©2003 Gibbens/Weston

Dear father, lead me
Where I need no longer speak
Nor cry out in the weakness
Of my heart.
Since you’ve been gone
The hours crawl like minutes
And the days are just like weeks
And everything has fallen apart.

Would you lead a horse to water
And then not let him drink?
Would you lead someone to be something
Other than they think?
Oh Lord, it’s not in you
To do these things
Then teach me how to use
These hands.

Most high rider
On a rolling cloud,
The door to your glory
Is still standing proud
And the keys to the kingdom
Are crying out loud
To be found in the pocket
Of my shroud.

It’s hard to be sincere
With a sin-sick soul,
Or to find any peace
When your heart’s unwhole,
Or to quench your gorge
With a burning coal
But when his hand upholds you
That bread’s worth more than gold.

Most high rider
On a rolling cloud,
The keys to the kingdom
Are crying out loud
To be found in the pocket
Of my shroud
And the door to your glory
Is standing unbowed.

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