Low and Behold

In the early morning hours I come to meet the Lord. Yearning for a touch, I press my face upon the floor. I confess my sins and faults, I weep and break before Him. He takes my great contrition, And a wondrous grace flows in. I find no greater entrance To the Father’s throne of grace Then when I come and bow so low, I am stretched out, on my face. He knows true repentance, Whether real or feigned. He yearns for earnest prayers Where blessings start to reign. Be laid out before the Lord And He will surely take His cup And pour upon you blessed hope That will revive and fill you up.