I make of thee an idol, image gold,
Your beauty steals the very place of God;
Where He once sat, this throned position hold-
By you: my very soul doth think this odd.
Oh desperate calamity called life,
That simple pleasures capture, close, and toy
Between the Lord and self- this war brings strife;
I ache to see my life: stained, vain, and void.
What plagues my mind: those pictures I do see-
Sinned, beautiful, deceptive looks bring lust;
Dependent I’ve become, no longer free,
And now my iron heart has turned to rust.
Please overflow my heart, oh Lord, I pray;
My wretched self, the price too high to pay.