Sunday Evening

Day is dying in the west
Evening is touching earth with rest
The echo of old hymns
Still seep into my mind
The tuneful fervency of
Blind belief
Blessed assurance
Jesus is mine
Assurance was more
Assuaging the fear
For Jesus was not mine
He was with someone else
Just as I am
Without one plea
Oh I pleaded
It was no use
And just as I am
Was never good enough
For grace has brought us safe thus far
And grace will lead us home
I left home long ago
I’ve wandered far
Unlike the prodigal
I’ve not returned
I have only learned
I’m good enough
What would I do?
With blind belief
Yet, sometimes
On Sunday evenings
When evening is touching
Earth with rest
And the echo of the past is heard
My soul is wistful
For the blind assurance
Of my youth

The certainty of home

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