Two Springs: Psalm 87

“This one was born there,”
    Loud this cry rings true.
But not ev’ry heir
    Is fully renewed.

For deep down inside
    My soul’s hidden cave
A dark spring resides
    That waters my way.

And from the ground grows
    Bent plants and bad fruit,
All fed by dark flow
    From cavern to root.

Yet other wet beds
    So brightly they run
From scars that have bled
    Pure blood of the Son.

The large crimson drops
    Turn dark into light,
And fetid flow stops
    Stream turning so bright.

Oh, that my dark spring
    To crystal would turn.
Then bent plants would bring
    Fruit’s joyful return.

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