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.