Misunderstanding so often
and given to a secret scoffing,
I can not grasp the methods of worship.
I'm confused in seeing those
with hands up high and eyes closed,
singing out with face up.
Being one well-practiced
in more than just lip service,
I imagine I know better,
but song and dust-realm striving -
no dignity surviving -
may just be the payment of a debtor.
I forget our price, our cost
and that old beloved cross;
I see hands reaching heavenward,
voices singing to be heard,
and with these raised
I realize you are worthy of this praise;
you are worthy of our praise.