Unpassing from this age,
Your glory's truer than a memory,
No second death will touch Your name,
Embedded on the minds of thoughtless shrubbery,

How much more at reason's root,
The canvas of Your moving eyes,
The meekness of Your face born out,
On mocking sneers that spurn the greatest love of every world,

Yet You would be undone to turn such sneers to deepest agony,
The kind to rock the soul and ruin but its truest light,
To spare by mercy those You'd take as friends,
To weep as they are made all right.

Plucking a poem from the air,
Wisps of cloud form droplets in my grasp,
Condense to drip down fingers taut,
A chaotic distilling file outstretched,
These stanzas held like dearest dreams,
In ever-refracting light
To stillest rainbows in the beads.

Who is worthy?
The one who drunk deep from the cup in all its fullness.
Who is worthy?
The conqueror of sin and death.
Who is worthy?
The source of all and almighty one.

Praise Him for he did not just shoulder God's wrath for one,
But every sin was poured on him,
Such weighty things demand much more than sweating blood and pierced hands, though he bore those too,
Such weighty things bring the mind to its knees in awe,
He is worthy indeed.