SCATTERED PETALS

God, I want to love You
and be like the saints of old,
but their hearts were warm
and mine seems cold.
They offered You their lives.
They gave tremendously,
but all I have to give
is what You see.
Their lives were perfect roses
blooming in the Spring,
but it's my Winter-time
and petals are all I bring.

Among the thorns I find some
rose petals for my Lord.
I scatter them that He might
forever be adored.
A perfect rose I'll never be as
long as I live,
but these scattered petals I'll always,
always remember to give.

This plucked and fallen rose
is the image of my heart,
the sacrifice I make,
I'm pulled apart.
Small acts and words of love
account for all I own,
but these I lay before
Your holy throne.
They came from the faith I have
and from Your great goodness,
and they form the little way
I walk in thankfulness.