We struggle out of bed, a typical Sunday
Somehow at the back of our minds
In bed we would rather lay
But to church we drag our blessed behinds
We don't even get there on time
Like we do the other days of the week
To work to school our punctuality is fine
I wonder what makes our bodies weak
We glance at our watches just as we enter
This Sanctuary, for two gruesome hours
We sing our songs, prayer at the alter
Celebrate His love and blessed showers
We glance again at our watches
"When will this be over?"
So we can return to bed, lock the latches
Or carry on with life's trifle pleasures
Oh blessed Word from which we receive
Wisdom, comfort, rebuke, instruction
How much of it in us can others perceive?
How much of it do we really live?
Beautiful words; we mean it when we sing
These simple songs our hearts' truly cried
But ONLY when we sing do we really mean?
When the music fades, we forget: He really died
We rejoice in how good He's been to us
Does He rejoice in how good we've been to Him?
What song does He sing, what hymn,
To describe the good works we may have done?
Oh dear me, we may have forgotten
That one greatest commandment
Loving God is more than heart's content
It's love lived, love testified, love unwritten
It's love that drives an enthusiastic heart
To joyfully grant Him a punctual audience
To live for Him all week, not just in part
To inspire Him more than once a week
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