My desires for good or ill
must be submitted to Your will.
What is emptied, You will fill.
There is nothing left to kill.
It's been dead ever since the Cross.
Every day accept the loss.
Admitting, Lord, that you're the Boss.
And You will never leave me there,
with the prince of the power of the air,
But everything you gladly bear,
all at once and everywhere.
All the wages sin may earn,
at the ready You will burn.
If only to You we will turn.
And give up any claim to good,
as an altar made of wood.
We think that we must lay atop it,
until He tells us "Stop it!"
The only need for sacrifice, of that we can be certain,
Was the blood You carried when You went inside the
curtain.
Our hidden life is well-protected
in the resurrected.
Knowing that our spirit dead was in the crucified,
Equally the Son of God is living now inside.