Each morning I wake from night’s sleeping death
Through a resurrection from where I lay
Last eve mourning, sad, life a labored breath,
Enshrouded in the stuff of yesterday.
And yesterday, having died already to the King,
I face the world for what it is, begin
To die again to self, to live, His praises sing,
And fight again for life putting to death my sin.
Again and again, I persistently
Seek the the joyful, exuberant encore
Of living each moment by faith obediently
Content, at peace, and always wanting more.
I forsake my shroud; gain your love for me
Which rises new each morn full of mercy.
© Randall Edwards 2018.
This poem is for Christ’s church. If it is helpful, please feel free to copy or reprint in church bulletins, read aloud, or repost. I only ask that an attribution be cited to myself (Randall Edwards) and this blog (backwardmutters.com). Thanks.
Artwork: Edwin Lord Weeks [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons