Swirl the dust into my eyes
A taste of pain to let me know I'm still alive
If I'm to be the martyr
I'll meet my end with head held high
Infliction of the thorn
There was no garden of roses
Ever promised to you or me
Yet in spite of all our suffering the power grows
I was and am the chief of sinners
Exalted and brought so low
Now I'm more than a conqueror, I am made whole
Fades all that seemed true
Given into truth absolute
Three times I cried
Take this thorn from my side
Three times denied
Enough for you is my grace
I will not be spared sadness
I will know my share of sorrow
But I will know safe shelter through the storm
Feel with a glad heart
Joy in the midst of suffering
Three times...
The thorn remains unnamed
For every man a differing pain
The thorn remains unnamed
Suffice for all blessed grace