Where did you come from loathsome vice
oft muted, mercifully constrained?
You’re the altar’s flame of burning ice
inner tranquility feigned.
You keep the gate for a powerless king
who scratches for a throne,
Whose worthless decrees he feebly clings
emboldened by his groans
My soul was veiled since birth.
My eyes could not have known
what blinded by this earth;
the King of Glory’s throne.
Owned by the darkness’ grasp
and lured by empty crowns.
My spirit’s judgment lapse
lacked His quiet sound.
Without a quickening turn
my heart was slowly crushed.
Wherewith a spoken wave,
by grace, supplied it’s rush.
His all familiar Word
now seemingly first known,
when King Jesus undeterred,
unveiled His glory’s throne!
Grace Breaks 