Who guides my path down dusty roads
 Where others fear to tread?
Who grants the courage I will need
 To stroll among the dead?

Who cools my soul on desert sands
 And calms the raging sea?
The answer lies with someone else–
 Because it isn't me.

When tempests rise along the way
 And transform day to night,
Who wipes the raindrops from my eyes
 And thus restores my sight?

Who keeps my armor free from rust
 In places I can't see?
Although I may appear to shine,
 It's someone else, not me.

When fools build castles in the air
 To sweep God from the skies,
Who gives me strength to scale the walls
 And grapple with their lies?

When I besiege the gates of hell,
 Who holds the holy key?
As trumpets blare and flags unfurl,
 Look elsewhere, not at me.

While deep within the dragon's lair
 Where truth and valor fade,
Who polishes the sword I wield
 And hones its slashing blade?

When wizards cast unholy spells
 And devils laugh with glee,
Who bolsters up my faithful shield?
 Take heed–it isn't me.

Whence does it come, this inner strength?
 A most amazing thing–
It grants the courage of a fool
 And conscience of a king.

It speaks of things I wish I were
 Or ever hope to be–
Yet all the best that I possess
 Belongs to God, not me.