The Mouse Will Tell You, “It’s good to be small”.
In the Great assembly gathered here I’m learning to sit all alone.
Though the noise of their voices which encourage the other resounds, mine is but a small horn.
With wonderous words comes the pat on the back. And I’m learning to just whisper. For when I speak I just sputter.
May the backs of the gifted wear a callous from of praise. Mine is but tender. One hand, just a graze.
I reject the notion that I must be great. Embracing the truth: It’s the least who are saved.
I’ll take the praise of He who is true. And spend my time here as one obscure.
What right do I have to be noticed or lauded? I’ve wasted my post. Now walk unapplauded.
It is He who will receive the praise. It is to Him that every knee will bow. Why wait for His face?
I’ll do what I can while I breathe in this place.
By His Grace.
