We think we're free to do our will
To play our song of choice
But we're instruments that others play
Our lives become their voice
Our challenge is to choose the hand
That lifts our horn in song
The music that we pick each day
Will lead to right or wrong
The Master looks from Heaven's chair
To see which way we choose
In His hands the notes rise clear
In others' hands they lose
Don't let another play a note
Your instrument is dear
He's fashioned it and polished it
No other to come near
Psalm 33:2
Praise the Lord with the harp;Make melody to Him with an instrument of ten strings.
blessings,
Rob Smith
No comments:
Post a Comment