C           F
On the day I met the artist
        C                   G
Like medium that speaks to man
           C                 F
I said, “Please reveal your glory
            C                      G
And as the paint drips from your hand
           Am               F
Use the brightest of the pigments
            C          G
The most beautiful of hues!”
          Am                 C         F
But the first stroke a dark shade of blue
       C                  F
So I begged and then I pleaded,
          C                 G
 “I do not understand the means,
           C                 F
Why would you put the hope inside me,
         C                   G
if you would not paint the dream?”
                 Am             F
He said, “Don’t let glory’s reflection
   C                G
distract you from glory.
              Am               C        F
Remember that all good things come from me.”
            C                   F
With each stroke his hand was steady,
        C              G
and I found myself in awe,
           C                    F              C
For as I stood back from the painting, it was not
          G                    Am            F
of me at all. And the darker shades he painted,
                      C        G
the ones that I had asked for not,
            Am            C    F
Had put me in the shadow of a cross.