When my heart does not feel right,

Sinful still and prone to fight,

Bad impure, not shining light,

Be, dear Lord, its guiding light.

When my heart feels vile with blight,

Wants to wound, not suffer slights,

Seems it can't do any right, 

Lift it, Lord, to heigher heights.

'Til the day my soul takes flight,

Clean it Lord, make it contrite.

Teach it how to love not spite,

Be, dear Lord, its guiding light.

While I wait to be made right,

Send more hearts into Your light,

Clean them too and make them bright.

Lift them, Lord, to newer heights.

All rights to this article belong to the author, but, this article may be freely redistributed as long as the content of the article is not changed.