Bravado loves to sing his song
While wisdom beats her toneless gong
Your basest thoughts
Your foolish ways
Are better still and worthy of praise
But harder and harder if truth be told
To trust in Thy refining hold
My heart is broken,
My body tattered
Old and weary my soul is scattered
What good purpose is there to see?
But a young man, broken, broken as can be
Perhaps taken low,
To be lifted high?
Akin to Your beloved Son that Jersusalem nigh?
To know Thy purpose may never be
To feel Thy goodness enough for me
But better still, when days are gone
And the doves have sung their mourning song
A Child in his Father's gaze, longing for his Father's praise
Til He looks down and softly speaks
"Well done My child–in you I am pleased"