Lent: Man of Sorrows 5

I cannot stop the tide of life:
                                       it moves
at speeds I cannot calculate;
                                            it twists
and turns and undulates. It thwarts
my best paid plans, my stern-set goals.
         Nothing in
this life bends to my will;
my trunk is buffeted too bluntly by these waves;
my fists smart from clenching at the sea.
                O take me –
      too sure of my own currents, too
   accustomed to storms – take
my drifting self-assurance; pilot
headlong all my debris and
    the flotsam, jetsam of my days
        into Your streams of praise.

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