I know that you are Son changed in the holy
Fire, the feet and tears of the foot washed
And God washing all that you are and washed
In all He is – the heaven’s high shout of Holy!
With the nard her hands pour to be washed,
For the murder His hands felt to be holy,
For the glory of what could not be holy,
But for the gory wood that was blood washed
Linen on me. Oh that we were holy
And in that death’s death and Son’s fire washed –
Born of that breath’s breath by the Spirit washed
Linen for you. The perfume of the holy
Washed whose shout is her joy in her glory,
Holy to the Lord is all your story.