Dear Lord of life, my hope, my joy —
I see your path for me.
You ask that I be your envoy
To set your people free.

You call for me to teach and lead
The high, the low, the poor,
To show the path that you’ve decreed
For those I stand before.

But like the prophets called of old
To speak your holy word,
I bow my head; I can’t be bold.
They’d laugh. I’d feel absurd.

Isaiah spoke the words I mean,
“My lips are too impure.”
I’m low, I’m dumb, I am not clean.
How can I serve you, Sir?

You cleansed his lips with fiery coal.
You answered Moses’ fear.
You made the shy apostles bold.
Send me. Your grace I’ll share.