Like a lamb with a splinter in its neck, fool that I am

I am bruised and in need of another and yet I call out for my justice,

While the harm remains in me: “Let me follow after Lord”

I plead, “Remove from me the object of my pain”

But though it should be so in the New Pasture

For now it reveals the unrighteousness within my self

Rather that I would cry out after Him

“Hurt me till I sin no more!”

Not that pain could wash my coat clean

Little lamb how detestable you look

With useless crimson wool and gnats

Christ the shepherd is far cleaner

It is He that removes the splinter, the object

But it is He that gives the pain of its presence

I run to Him as led by Voice

Along the way, my tendons and muscles

They feel, in my pain, the object as it tears

But the strain to keep toward my Savior only amplifies His glory

The glory of removal of the object of my pain

The moment everlasting when the object and the curse of its impaling

Two separate identities are found in Him their fate.

How silent the lamb rests in the intervention

How the pasture can be trampled with joy at this peace

The pain existed long before the object found me

But at its removal it is now and forever trampled under Him

Good shepherd treat Your lamb with kindness

The kindness known only by You

That hurt must persist as far as depravity

And as far as I am unjust so may it be true

And at long last when I run at Your calling

Irresistible in the pain of truth

May this lamb be made holy in piety, solely as it’s means to Grace

That running the race I will survive in its journey

By the Voice leading me through my own treachery

As dumb lambs leap and tarry, hurt me till I hurt no more

Blessed be Your name who takes away the splinter

As one who purposes such pain for glory

And crimson hues made holy only from You

Let me always reverence You with joy making complete my present pain

Like the bruised reed, this little lamb You will not crush