There is in me the kind of mess That makes me want to scream and press The sprit-numbers 9-1-1 And call, “Oh, Lord, please quickly come And clean up this abomination!” But He, in His divine frustration, Would simply, slowly shake his head And say, “You need, here, to be dead. I told you, just take up your cross, And count this, and all things, but loss Compared to what I have for you. Behold, I shall make all things new.” To which, repenting, feeling numb, I say, “E’en so, Lord, quickly come.”
Love it!