“The Low Will See”

They mock and sneer as I walk by,

Their words cut deep, yet I don’t cry.

For in the dust where I am thrown,

The King of Kings makes me His own.

He lifts not those who boast and shine,

But souls that break to match His line.

The proud look down and lose their sight,

The low look up and see the Light.

My crown is crushed beneath their feet,

My name erased—His will complete.

For when I die to self and fame,

The Lord Himself will call my name.

Let them despise, reject, and scorn,

From their contempt, new life is born.

The Lord is high—He hides from pride,

But dwells within the ones denied.

So strip me bare, remove my face,

Until I’m clothed in His embrace.

The high stand far, the low will see—

In dust and shame, He dwells in me.