Where I am rock let fountains pour,
Refreshing streams, reviving roar
Of life-renewing water.
Where I am flood, all-drowning seethe,
Let firm ground rise, and part the seas
Within my soul, your daughter.

Where branches rattle, fruitless, dry,
Let grow abundance, nourishing and fine.
Where I have fruit, ripe though small,
Take, squeeze, distill into pure wine.
Prune what so needs, let grow what bears;
Harvest the grain and burn the tares.
Turn revelry to repentant tears;
Exchange life's endless sorrows for long joyous years.

The last is first, the highest low.
The mighty falls; lift up the low.
The strong is wrong, and blessed is the weak;
The victory comes with the turning of the cheek.
Mountains level, valleys rise,
And crooked road is straightened where it lies.
Awake, my soul, and see this wondrous thing:
All the world is changed when the Servant is the King.

- HJ, March 20, 2011