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A heart attuned, by Christ’s own hand made soft,
A gift divine, to feel where shadows fall,
He tunes the soul to hear the whispers oft,
The sighs of earth, the Spirit’s gentle call.
Through tears and joy, the process carves its way,
Each wound a quill, each grace a line to sing,
A tender heart learns mercy day by day,
And crafts its verse to glorify the King.
Where others pass, unmoved by silent cries,
This poet sees, with eyes by Jesus lent,
The beauty veiled, the pain that underlies,
And weaves it all to hymns of sweet assent.
So from His touch, a fragile strength is born,
A voice to reign in triumph evermore.

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