amy williams

How Can It Be, My God

How can it be my God?
That I who’ve fallen, plod;
That I had grasped my shame;
wandering, yet only lame.
My tears, my doubting of grace,
Hands covering my worthless face,
Oh! but was that only thought, not true;
Sin not death, not unable to undo.
Life a test, yet not judgment,

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