Plea of a Helpless Soul

Oh, grace divine,
Won’t you hear this heart pine.
Of things that grow numb and cold,
Till nothing pricks the soul untold.

When with every single fibre,
The heart desires compliance to the inciter.
May you drag back to your fold,
And remind each time, what of thee is failed to behold.

When in this pit of despair,
The heart sinks and grows impaired.
Afloat, may you keep,
And daily sustain with your riches deep.

Oh, grace divine,
To thee, cause the heart to align.
Away from this vanity fair,
To a place of holiness and prayer.

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