1 To you I lift up my eyes,
O you who are enthroned in the heavens!
2 As the eyes of servants
look to the hand of their master,
as the eyes of a maid
to the hand of her mistress,
so our eyes look to the Lord our God,
until he has mercy upon us.
3 Have mercy upon us, O Lord, have mercy upon us,
for we have had more than enough of contempt.
4 Our soul has had more than its fill
of the scorn of those who are at ease,
of the contempt of the proud.
How did Jesus bear the humiliation
When they taunted him and beat him?
Could he still see the throne when his nose was in the dust?
Some days it’s hard to lift my eyes.
To remember why I do this, why I follow.
Some days the words of love you command me to speak, stick in my throat.
Your hand feels heavy on me, and I want to rebel.
To go my own way.
And then my eyes lift of their own accord,
and I know you know every thought in my head.
Every moment of disobedience, every passing sin.
And I tremble.
Not in the ordinary fear of the world and its ills,
but in the fear which is more akin to wonder,
the fear which recognises how immeasurably above me you are,
yet how impossibly deeply you love me.
I tremble, and in my trembling,
I find the power to obey.