A Higher View Prod me with Your loving hands, Stir me from my deep impasse. I long to flee this stagnant rut; My soul, my prison, deadened lot, Which end is just to taste Your wrath; So set me on the narrow path. Thorns and thistles may line this road But it leads me to the mutual abode. Lift me up with Your mighty hand Above this frenzied earthly land. Set me on the mount to see What the world can offer me; Till I see the vanity from on high And earthly desires I bid goodbye And set my eyes on You.