SUCH ARE THE MEN

As a child finds joy
In its’ new toy
So do I derive in real sense
Happiness every new day in your presence
O lord
My God

Like a river
That won’t wither
Less it forgets its’ source
And becomes a curse
Unto its’ inhabitants
And dependants

So is that soul
Who surrenders to you in whole
Making its’ stand
In your hand
And believing in your word
And your person as God

Such are the men who boast of nothing
But in you have everything