by Jen Hunt, based on Psalm 63, from the archives
O LORD, my LORD, my Living Water
Quench my charred and blistered soul
Whiten sheets of blackened parchment
Blasted by sin's fiery blow
Sated lips once sang your glory
From Jerusalem's holy hill
Lips, now parched by Judah's desert,
Praise from streams no longer filled
Enemies have sought to kill me
Do not hear their evil plans
I rely on you to stay me
Cradle me with your right hand
Look upon my fevered torment,
Tilt your never-emptied bowl
That a drop of holy ferment
Might rain down to wet my soul