Qualified by grace to share in the light
And the kingdom which shines like His chrysolite face,
I enter the throne-room, a beggar, no right,
While the one spotless lamb hangs in my bleeding place.
Unsettled by striving, cast out of the race
(Failing to run and nose-diving my flight),
I hold the gold laurel, the crown of first place,
Qualified by grace to share in the light.
The invisible God’s perfect image: the sight
Blinds me here as I see Him, and yet I can trace
My story within His mercies, alight
And the kingdom which shines like His chrysolite face.
From outside of me, the gift of pure faith
And love rich in every dimension and height
Transforms me, pulls me into it, apace;
I enter the throne-room, a beggar, no right.
The glory which shines on us all now rewrites
Our stories of failure, our dead fruit and days,
Gives purity where we had only pride
While the one spotless lamb hangs in our bleeding place.
Uprooted by truth, I linger in space.
No sense in this; no, it defies all touch, sight,
The logic of ears and the world I embrace.
No sense, and yet now I stand, pure, bright,
Qualified by grace.