These Mere Words

Oh Lord, father of the hills and trees;
Oh maker of the birds and bees.

Your glory cannot be held in idle words,
or in mans voices among the birds.

But yet I try to relay,
through all the words I say.

Your loving arms have no measure;
Your worth cannot be told be treasure.

How can one use your breath of air,
to paint a picture to compare?

How can one formed from the dust,
one in sin and fear and lust?

Model something after your might,
something that can reach your height?

Is there no way we can express,
all the peace within your rest?

Or all the love within your heart,
that caused the veil to tear apart?

What can I do to show my love?
What can be heard from up above?

Since I have not the tongue to shout,
all I can do is sell all out.

And that is all you ask of me;
I cannot even pay for what you give free.

So take these words though they are few,
for I only strive to honor You.

In all that I do;
It is all for You.