Through the Gospel

The folds have heard his gentle voice, In which I was yet to hear. They say it is still and small; A sound to comfort the tiers. Had I been left forsaken, Built along my grievances? The shadow of a lost man, Trapped in my performances. A golden cloak to harbor the truth Of the soul that lies in shame. Alas, his divining blade cuts true; Transcending the confines of my claims. He knows the nature of my depth, And a simple voice I shall not heed. My endearment for music of the soul Is the swiftest route to capture me. I sit amongst the gentiles, And the choir intonates. His sword has pierced my innermost, And my heart begins to wake. My walls began to crumble and fall; A consequence of gospel’s forte. Tears of reprieve afforded to me, By grace’s doctrine they exhort. The many years wasted by me, I did not mind from within. At last I’ve heard his holiest spirit, And felt his benediction.