My feet walk down the paths I choose,
And words fall from my tongue.
But words and ways and all I use,
All from God’s will are wrung.
My darkest steps and brightest days
Are ever under him,
And even when far are my ways,
I hang from holy limb.
My life is fruit on branch divine
My steps known far before --
Before there was a pregnant sign
God had my days in store.
Yet even so doth anger rage
When wicked men run free,
When sins and darkness from this age
Corrupt all I can see.
And in this life of holy writ,
I freely choose my path.
Such knowledge wonderful is it,
Yet still deserve I wrath.
Lord, purge my heart of sinful thoughts --
Wipe clean my slate of sin.
So flee from you my feet will not,
And plans of yours will win.
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