Who Can Fathom?
By Frederick Blanchard
Do not sketch or carve an image of me,
For that is not who I am,
Who can fathom with wisdom my entity,
Or my true nature like a perfect unknown gem?
Can anyone conceive the power of my hand,
Or measure my true size,
As I hold a pose so you may attempt to draw,
While gazing deep into my eyes?
The light emanating from my life,
Would swallow any born sun,
If I did not provide a protective shield,
By way of the Lamb, my son.
To me, the galaxies are as bread crumbs,
Resting in the palm of my hand,
Safe and secure until the time of my will,
Yet to you, they outnumber the oceans sand.
I willfully hold my voice to a whisper,
Lest it tear the heavens in two,
With the ease like that of ripping thin paper,
Sending all of creation askew.
How would one paint a picture of truth,
Or sculpt out a figure of holiness,
Can anyone conceptually speak of my glory,
Describing The Lord and His righteousness?
Set before your prayerful eyes,
Not the things of silver or of gold,
But in the quietness of that hour,
Meet me, and my love I will not withhold.