To the Feast

What am I able to bring to your grand table
For the feast, and I the least of your guests?
My eyes see the spread of meat and bread,
And I wonder how I could have less to offer
Out of my own coffer, so barren and empty;
But as I look upon the plenty you’ve given,
My soul feels shame and so I blame myself
For playing games untamed, the wild child,
Instead of being mild and wise in your sight,
My bright morning star who came from afar
To invite even me into your banqueting hall,
And so I find my place in falling on my face
Before your unbridled love, still asking . . .
What am I able to bring to your grand table
For the feast, and I the least of your guests?
I bring myself

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