One finds it not in the legs of a man,
Nor in his might and stature born renoun,
He does not deal in fleshly things,
But delight is this: when one lost sheep is found,
What mercy and divine a love,
Inexhaust when scattered over wretched man,
That runs to sinner caught and lost,
That stretches out his mighty hand. What grace.

Troubleshooting blanks the bullets blindly bounce off,
The rubber that they are asserts the duel is up,
And I walk out alive the ring behind,
The street deserted, horse abandoned by,
So turning I look separate ways at once,
Stumble on a lesser thing not quite the,
End to trouble but a mere compromise.

Find the symmetries of a curve,
A tool to hammer out a sketch,
I'll add it to my belt although I find,
I miss half a swing for each I hit,
My arm grows steady with the time,
As all the memories I swifter fetch,
And grow the satisfaction I preserve.

Broken body,
Outpoured blood,
Sustenance for a feeble soul,
Salvation for a hungry people,
Great rising joy for all the world,
Praise You for You did not spare,
A hand or leg but gave it all,
Your body crushed,
My soul redeemed.