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
The Unmanned Stagecoach 