THE BRUISED REED

Where is the joy?
This reed is bruised
Bent low to the ground.
Take the strain Lord,
So I can stand tall again.
Heal the hurt Lord and strengthen.
I will be still,
Only fight for me Lord.

Where is the fire?
This wick only smoulders,
Smothered by tradition.
Fan the flame Lord,
So I can be on fire again.
Fill me with your spirit Lord and sanctify
I will be strong.
Only walk with me Lord.