Confessions

I’ve come running to the stream

That babbling brook where deer pant of thirst

I’ve come running to the stream

This isn’t a game of being last or first

You see, this stream is one of rest

It resides in the foothills of this rocky crest

The mountains may be high, these valleys may be low

But your love for me Oh, Lord is like this river’s flow

I find peace and solitude here on your shore

This soul of mine feels anxiety no more

Off in the distance I hear the storm

Flashing, crashing, gaining in form

But I, a weary traveler have taken shelter here

Amongst the riverside with skies bright and clear