By His mercy we are sent.  We are from the wicked.  He dresses us and sends us back.  Even while we serve, he dresses us all the more.  We are no longer from the wicked.  We are now sent from God.

All men are just like me.  Arms, legs, eyes, mouth, head, body, fingers, desires, dislikes, and frailty are the sum of our freshly days.   And they are startled faces touch my heart.

Pity strikes me.  I see the difference because God has shown it to me.  But I dare not let my pitiful eyes close up the word I have been sent to speak.  Where is love to let them die without warning?

This is why they are urged me to be quiet.  “You are just like us why do you speak so harshly?”  With their fleshly eyes they cannot see that I have been sent.  But my soul knows the truth.

Get behind me, you worker of death!  You have only man in mind.  You are my slave you are not my confidant.  You are my body, my sinful nature, and you have nothing to say.

I will have pity on man.  I will speak the words I am sent to say.  With this I love them, that I tell them the truth.

By His Grace