My Lord

My Lord God and master
Will You tell me why
We come here each Sunday
But don’t hear Your cry
To be still and listen
Perhaps even try
To let You pervade what is Yours.

Is it through duty
A weekly event
The sinners repenting
The sorrow half meant
Put up with the music
A modern lament
Then home to forget all the noise.

The Spirit is moving
The Lord, He is here
Gradually turning
His screw on the fear
That chains oh so many
Who cling to the weir
Of life giving water aflow.

So join with the others
The new wine surrounds
Go splashing a plenty
And put on the pounds
Of overweight blessing
That surely abounds
When we give ourselves to The Lord.


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