A Thorn To Bless

What will I do with satan’s thorn
Lodged deep in weakest access point?
No pill to take
No treatment makes
It well, no method has supplied
A cure,
Steps stumble; Backward falls
The soldier, boldly with a limp
But limping on
He goes, he goes,
A carefully crafted grin
All turmoil within.

Paul called his a tormentor,
Assailant of the flesh,
A harassing messenger
Its’ agent being death.

What wickedness with cruel intent
Should drive the thorn so deep?
What does he gain
From this my pain?-
But not my soul to keep.

God, the guardian of my soul-
He does not sleep.
No armies march past Him
While I do weep.

His hand could close the gate,
Why should He not
When I so shot
Do sigh “Deliver me,”
My cry,
While thorns like shards beneath my skin
Do grind?

In satan’s thorn, the Lord
A purpose finds.
Evil intent behind
The foe, but God who thwarts
The wicked, has in mind
My good and best
Through thorns to bless
Two fold:
Sufficient grace to know,
Apart from which
I’d ever backwards go.
Yes, left unknown the sweetest grace
Would be,
If weaknesses were not exposed
In me,
Nor sure supply of strength prevail,
That power endowed when my own
Strength has failed.

Yes, through a thorn-
(Though still a thorn),
I’m blessed
For it daily makes me
Lean on Christ for rest,
And daily by His strength
The war is won,
No ground to boast
Upon but freely in the Son.

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