Break me, O God! Not with a gentle hand—
Smile down my pride and burn away my will;
My prayers are dead, like ash upon the sand,
And still I breathe…yet feel Thy silence kill.
This soul you formed from dust now dares to speak,
Half-damned and trembling at Your dread delay;
If grace be real, than strike me while I’m weak—
Do not relent, then judge when I decay!
I’ve knelt too long in shadows with bowed head,
And whispered praise when rebuke filled my chest;
If faith must thrive, then scourge me raw instead—
Let hurt bear proof You hear this heart’s unrest!
Refuse me not—or render me insane—
If I deserve not rapture—give me pain!

© Loubert S Suddaby.  All Rights Reserved.