Better to ask the grass to grow less green,
Better to order the sky to dawn less blue,
And easier for God’s glory to be less seen,
Than for me to be to Christ less true.
No bluster this, like Peter’s brash reply
That the name of the Lord he would never deny,
Before he turned away he’d rather die—
I know too well my weakness to live by the eye.
So mine is a desperate prayer, a bald appeal,
That knows the end of him who launches free
Of a holy and gracious God; For this I kneel—
That Christ may always keep his hold on me.