Sunday, December 13
The Prodigal's Sister
(Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2003), 41
The Father’s Light
Come, flick’ring hope, and carry fire;
From this my story and desire,
Ignite your smold’ring wick, and make
Your candle blaze. And may Christ take
This happy flame and with it burn
Up ev’ry hopeless word, and turn
The fatal dream of false despair
Into the bright and living air
That blows down from the Father’s farm.
And may you feel the mighty arm
Of God lift you into the light
Of Truth, and put an end to night.
We do not know ourselves aright
Until we have the Father’s light.
We think we know ourselves and groan,
Until we know as we are known.
The Prodigal's Sister
(Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2003), 41