Carved in His Image
When blessings fall from our lips,
The sacred, cut into the stone, chip by chip—
Speak not of pleasures that soon decay,
But of the trials that shape our way.
For pain, though sharp, refines the soul,
God’s hand, the artist, makes us whole.
Each blow, each loss, each burdened sigh,
carves us closer to the throne on high.
The fleeting joys of earthly days
May stir our hearts in fleeting praise,
Yet deeper still, the chisel’s sound
In His image, each day we are made.
The chisel is sharp but we are unafraid.
Carves in us God’s grace, profound.
Like marble under the sculptor’s care,
We’re shaped with patience, smooth, and fair.
Each strike, though harsh, brings forth the form—
beyond the storms, a soul reborn,
For Christ, who bore the weight of pain,
In Jesus Christ, the foundation was lain.
To be painstakingly remade,
by love divine, our old selves fade,
and in His image, pure and true,
He chisels us with each breakthrough.
What greater blessing can there be
than God’s own hands setting us free?
Though worldly pleasures tempt the ear,
We’re being formed, His voice is clear.
To be painstakingly reworked,
By love divine, where sin once lurked.
And as the stone yields to the light,
We stand complete in God’s delight.
The old self fades, chipped away,
As we are made new each day.
far above the world’s delight—
We are set in stone to the carver’s delight.
In the carver’s hands, we are designed—
Perfect, eternal, God’s masterpiece refined.