This recording by Liz Wright is one of many covers of this Bob Dylan song. To hear the original, click on the link at the bottom of the page. As you listen, consider why I have included this as a song Jesus might have written. Although I have not already chosen the songs yet to be posted here, I suspect Bob Dylan will be a frequent visitor. He is one of the true prophets of our time.
In the time of my confession, in the hour of deepest need
When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed
There’s a dying voice within me reaching our somewhere,
Toiling in the danger and the morals of despair.
Don’t have the inclination to look back on any mistake;
Like Cain I now behold this chain of events that I must break.
In the fury of the moment I can see the Master’s hand
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand.
Oh the flowers of indulgence and the weeds of yesteryear,
Like criminals they have choked the breath of conscience and good cheer.
The sun beats down upon the steps of time to light the way
To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay.
I gaze into the doorway of temptation’s angry flame,
And every time I pass that way I always hear my name.
Then onward in my journey, I come to understand
That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand.
I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night,
In the violence of a summer’s dream, in the chill of a wintery night,
In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space,
In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face.
I hear the ancient footsteps, like the motion of the sea;
Sometimes I turn there’s someone there, other times it’s only me.
I’m hanging in the balance of the reality of man,
Like every sparrow fallen, like every grain of sand.