This alabaster jar

This alabaster jar
this jar of clay,
a treasure throve
all I have to give

sweet perfume, anoiting oil,
what else can I give

Those wounded hands,
those nail-pierced feet,
upon which this jar I break

I pour out my life, my heart, my all
what else can I possibly give,
to the man who hung on a tree

My blood covered hands,
raise to Him

This liar, this thief, this whore, this psychopath
Who am I that He embraces me

a hopeless fool,
to hope to grasp
yet His cloak i reach for

He strides the shores of eternity,
the cosmos in His palm,
who am i, that i attempt to understand his omipotence
what hope do i have
to satisfy the unquenchable desires of an infinite being?

so i lay me down
end the masquerade
humble my crowns before his feet

grace amazing
what wondrous glory
to see the Son of Man, hung on a tree
the acceptance & hope He gives to me
a poor broken earthen vessel