Clean

This one is for next Sunday’s readings.

Depart from me, my Lord and God;
my lips are all unclean,
my hands befouled, my feet roughshod,
my thought too oft obscene.
And yet I stand here overawed
to see what I have seen.
Yes, Lord, I’ll speak your name abroad,
if you but make me clean.

Then touch my mouth with fiery coal
and wash, O Lord, my feet.
Bid me consume the written scroll
that is as honey sweet,
and I will this same feast unroll
for all who come to eat.
O cleanse my heart, renew my soul,
by burning ember’s heat.

And I’ll push off into the waves,
though I have worked all night,
if you, my Jesus, make me brave
to cast my nets aright,
within their cords to free the slave
and give the blind their sight.
The lost are yours alone to save,
and I am yours t’ignite.