Thorn
Oh Christ, my Christ I have a thorn
It leers at me and leaves me worn
On desperate knees I lift my cries
With mercy pleas and downcast eyes
Oh Christ, my Christ I cannot see
The profit that this thorn can be
And long—the hours that I pray
That you would take this thorn away
Oh Christ, my Christ if this is planned
And you would save this wicked man
No other shelter shall I seek
Your perfect strength shines through the weak.
Secret
I have a secret
buried deep
and you may never know
I have a secret
that I keep
where terrors ebb and flow
And though you may not see it
The signs may never show
I have a secret
buried deep
and you may never know