My Father, and yours,
Of the nations and shores;
Who made all things beautiful,
Whose standard is more.
More life in abundance,
More joy overflowed
In His dance of deliverance,
When death bowed down low.
A ring to remember
That His way is better;
A cloak to conceal
Wounds that grace will heal.
No orphans to Him,
No children disowned,
But instead to our Father,
Not a person unknown.
Without any bricks,
Our Father builds home.
The words of His lips
Eclipse every known trick.
In an instant, there’s light,
In a moment, delight.
And love, vast as sea,
Showing who we can be.
We are made in His image,
Made in His joy,
Made for a pilgrimage
As God’s own envoy.
My Father, and yours,
Of the nations and shores;
He has made all things beautiful,
Take His standard, it’s more.
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