(Someone played this song last night. It totally reminded me of this poem I wrote a while back)
There used to be this secret place
that I harbored grief and despair.
My own little refuge where I was
bound by grudging and resentments.
A secret place I called my own
full of bitterness and anger.
….old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. 2 Cor. 5:17
There is this place in which
I enjoy the secret riches of Christ. Is. 45:3
My refuge, my hightower
a stronghold in the storms of life. Nah. 1:7
A secret place filled with
Christ within, my hope of glory. Col. 1:27
A wellspring of life.
Rest for the weary.
Hope for the hurting.
My Deliverer from Evil.
My Rescuer in the Night.
And in Him Alone
I am able to stand.
So bury the hatchet and marry Christ, He is Lord of all in this life.
Pursue peace with all men.
Bring honour, where honour is due.
Count it all dung, so that I may win Christ.