“Flood me, Lord.
Let the vast force of Thy presence
Break upon my soul’s reluctance
Like a wave boils over beaches,
Sifting till soft sand it reaches.
Flood my shallow tide pools, Father,
Flushing from them fetid waters.
Flood my fields, my fens, my farming,
If these things Thy work are harming.
Crush my castles, gates, and hedges,
If between us they drive wedges.
Wash away the least corruption
I allow—wreak swift destruction
On the idols I am smithing,
On the lies my heart is mything.
Flood the crags I carved for refuge—
Swamp them with Thy searching deluge
Till I run to Thee, Thee only,
For relief when wandering lonely.
Flood the heights of all my mountains’
Savage pride beneath Thy fountains,
So in Thee I find fulfillment,
Not gilt ladders of achievement.
Flood my world, Lord, till it’s covered
Out of sight, and self’s rule smothered—
So I look to Thee to make me
A new world, Thine, as it should be.”