Sitting in the garden alone,
I pray out to the Lord who sits on His throne.
I marvel at His majesty,
and wonder why He would ever think of me.
I am just a sinful man,
tainted by the world, with sin on my hands.
The words I pray are quiet and small;
how could they ever matter to the Lord of All?
Sunday morning we all sing,
lifting up our voices in praise to the King.
Some will raise their hands to the sky
while others will kneel down to pray and to cry.
In unison we glorify,
but our words are often empty and our hearts so dry.
Five hundred voices harmonize,
and yet they do no justice to the Lord on High.
Angels in the heavenly clouds,
dancing and rejoicing and shouting out loud.
It’s an overwhelming sight,
joyful explosions of both sound and light.
Even the lions and the trees
are leaping in worship and bowing on their knees.
But still it’s simply not enough
to glorify a God who is so glorious.
Yet somehow God is more than pleased;
He’s filled with joy at the dancing of the trees.
He’s also honored by our songs;
even sung by sinners, He’d hear us all day long.
He is even happy with me;
a long lost son who’s come home on his knees.
Our God is oh so glorious,
yet He still longs to love and be loved by us.