A higher view

Prod me with Your loving hands,

Stir me from my deep impasse.

I long to flee this stagnant rut;

My soul, my prison, deadened lot,

Which end is just to taste Your wrath;

So set me on the narrow path.

Thorns and thistles may line this road

But it leads me to the mutual abode.

Lift me up with Your mighty hand

Above this frenzied earthly land.

Set me on the mount to see

What the world can offer me;

Till I see the vanity from on high

And earthly desires I bid goodbye

And set my eyes on You.