It's vanity to think that I can offer anything Of import or significance to the Source of everything My praise, my efforts, and my prayers are made possible by my King. There is no gift that comes from me, no self-made offering. The life I live, the air I breathe - The lungs and voice that let me speak - I give to Christ, not from my strength, But since he all these things did make. My selfish heart is made of stone It's turned to flesh by God alone No thing I've said, nor thing I've done Can make me please him, but Christ alone. No songs or special words I sing No garb I wear, or gold I bring No charity or almsgiving Apart from the Spirit is pleasing. Our God does not delight in words Repeated, so we may be heard He wants our spirits - humble, contrite - This is a pleasing sacrifice. He knows our needs before we ask To answer, for him, is a simple task. We please him not with human striving But our surrender, in him abiding. In our silence, he will work within In the quiet, deal with all our sin. If we will simply to him yield And let him be our strength, our shield. The Christian life that bids us strive Is not of the Spirit, but fleshly pride In humility, into Christ we press And let the Spirit do the rest. For out of rocks, our Christ can call Praises to the God of all. Heartless chants and facades of love Are clanging symbols to God above. Our hearts, our childlike offerings Of trust and faith are beautiful things. More precious than silver or diamond rings Are praises from the mouths of tiny beings. And like these tiny ones, so we - To reunite with God must be. Recognizing that our minds Are to things infinite lost and blind. Our minds were made to reason, yes But the ways of God surpass all this He works in ways we cannot see And unlike we, reasons infinitely.
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