Here You See
Here you see a watchman,
“O, that’s what he calls himself?”
A beaten, heartbroken, watchman,
With no worldly wealth.
His treasures’ stored in heaven,
He has nothing in this earth.
He pours out his soul to others,
Unto many who laugh in mirth.
“A fool, he is, who thinks he’s called,
He thinks he writes for Christ,
Who does he think he is?
In him I see no life!”
He takes his pen, begins to write,
His tears fall on the page,
His Lord gently speaks to him,
“Please write what I say.”
“Lord,” he asks, “must I write?
Must I bare my soul again?”
The Lord says softly to him,
“Son, please raise your pen.”
“I have much to say, but few will speak,
Few will relay My words,
Son, I trust you fully,
To write down what you’ve heard.”
“This is why I’ve called you,
Why I’ve taken you by the hand,
I knew that you would write for Me,
I knew you’d take a stand.”
“I knew that you would speak the truth,
I knew you’d not back down,
No matter who abandoned you,
Or who, upon you, frowned.”
“Yes, you are My watchman,
And you are not alone,
There are others I have called,
Who’ll write what they’re shown.”