 | The Prisoner of Love |  |
416
BROKEN WINGS
My wings are broken, Lord, though they are wings
Yet that would upward fly;
It is not clogging doubt that to them clings,
But just the glory of their kindred sky.
Yet that would upward fly;
It is not clogging doubt that to them clings,
But just the glory of their kindred sky.
For O the burden of Thy Love is such
They hardly rise to Thee,
Beneath the blessing of the sovereign touch
Which binds the closer it doth make me free.
They hardly rise to Thee,
Beneath the blessing of the sovereign touch
Which binds the closer it doth make me free.
Ah, still I know however I may droop
Upon Thy Grace I fall,
I bring to Thee, who wilt so humbly stoop,
My broken wings and weaknesses and all.
Upon Thy Grace I fall,
I bring to Thee, who wilt so humbly stoop,
My broken wings and weaknesses and all.
F. W. O. W.
| The Prisoner of Love | |