Call me the proxy
I’m a fiddle with strings
Contemplation is the luthier that makes me to sing
Of all the thoughts, impressions, and trifling things
spinning round my head
in constant concentric rings…
There’s not a one may boast on any account
Mighty God alone is the prodigal fount
God’s Basin is like an imperceptible abyss
When I receive naught from that ocean, I know something’s amiss
And the moment I attribute His Grace to myself
it is then I abuse my spiritual health
ScrutinyInFaith 