The kindness of our Lord, a crimson tide,
Sweeps through the soul like dawn’s unyielding flame,
It carves through stone where secret shadows hide,
And calls us forth from graves etched with our name.
No storm of fire rains down to sear the earth,
But silver dewdrops gleam on wilted vines,
A breeze of myrrh, a cradle’s tender birth,
Unfurls the heart where thorns of sin entwines.
His gaze, a sun that melts the frost of years,
Dissolves the chains in rivers wild and deep,
Through jagged scars, a fountain now appears,
Where once we bled, sweet lilies gently weep.
Thus kindness storms, a flood to heal our rent,
Through sore repentance, we’re salvation’s sent.