The Brush


Life started out as a canvas,
And God started painting on me,
But I took the paintbrush from Jesus,
And painted what I wished to see.

The colors I painted kept running,
And the objects were all out of size,
I had made a mess of my painting,
My way now seems so unwise.

So I brought my painting to Jesus,
All the colors, all the pieces so wrong,
In the markets of earth it was worthless,
But His blood made my painting belong.

He worked with no condemnation,
Never mentioned the mess I had made,
Then He dipped His brush in the blood He had shed,
And He signed it, “The price has been paid.”

When I gave THE BRUSH back to Jesus,
When I gave THE BRUSH back to Him,
He started all over life’s canvas to fill,
When I gave Jesus THE BRUSH of my will.



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