The Presence

Kneel at the door on a country church floor and you know

Reach the chilling heights of a steeple in the cold moonlight

Send echoes and calls down cathedral halls still the voice of the Presence softens them all

And waves of shudders rise and fall where the Spirit of God goes

Bittersweet bliss when I recognize this: I’m wholly unholy made valid by Him

Prone on my face seems the only right place for me now






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