GW Yeatman
Who am I that God would love me,
And grasp my flailing hand,
Securing me to solid rock,
From desert's quickened sand?
Among a million squirming souls,
In darkened hives of swarm,
That God would safely pluck me,
Nestled in His arms?
Not centuries past or those to come,
But this day, this hour, this time,
Why would he rescue me as this?
To show His love-and gather mine.
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