Near forty years I’ve wandered aimlessly
In quiet desperation, doubt and fear
Abandoning all hope, I enter here:
“Eli, Eli lama sabachthani?”
My eyes, the blinding Son, they cannot see
O’er guilt from passions past, shed countless tear
My meat, my mouth, for shame! My ears do hear:
“Eli, Eli lama sabachthani?”
But hope is in the Lord, as it is said,
So I must trust the Living, not the dead.
For forty years is but a drop of blood;
Compared to this, eternity’s a flood!
And if the Lord did part that sanguine sea,
Then surely He does part my sin from me.

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