OINTMENT

There is noÝ precious oilÝ with whichÝ

I can hope to bless

No ointmentÝ sweet

To pour on your feet

that IÝ now possess

But Oh!Ý with all-adoring praise

My one possession I outpour

BrokenÝ and spilled

AndÝ poured out until

I rest on the one that I adore

I pour outÝ my hopes andÝ dreams,

Ambitions works andÝ plans

A fitting holy sacrifice

I place within your hands

May I serve and work and be

Your means this world toÝ touch

In making much of you Lord

and through you -loving much

OhÝ make my life an offering

Poured on the altar of praise

A aroma sweet in the air

Mounting up on our prayers

to your throne when it is raised.

ÝAnd Oh!Ý with all-adoring praise

My one possession I outpour

BrokenÝ and spilled

AndÝ poured out until

I rest on the one that I adore

Anthony Foster

February 26, 2005