The King

I am the lowest subject in the land
My clothes are all tattered, there's dirt on my hands
Among all the great I'm unfit to be seen
But still every day I speak with the King

My face is all muddy from the falls that I take
And try as I might I can't wash it away
So some people think it's a curious thing
That one such as I could speak with the King

Wonder of wonders, glorious grace
That even the lowest may enter that place
The weakest of voices will joyfully sings
Because every day they speak with the King

He carefully listens to all that I say
And daily he washes my stains all away
Forgives all my debts and He gives me great things
And sends me out praising the love of the King

My rags are replaced by a robe of pure white
I'm given a candle of radiant light
I still can't quite fathom this marvelous thing
That He has proclaimed me a child of the King

Wonder of wonders, glorious grace
That even the lowest may enter that place
The weakest of voices will joyfully sings
Because every day they speak with the King

For now I'll continue a pilgrim on earth
But I know that I am of noblest birth
One day I'll dwell in great comfort and peace
Constantly praising my glorious King

Wonder of wonders, glorious grace
That even the lowest may enter that place
The weakest of voices will joyfully sings
Because every day they speak with the King