How do some love more than others? Is there a limit to loving ones' brothers?
Perhaps the soul is lined with wood, An ever growing selfish "could."
It wasn't small, the Grinch's heart So much as squeezed out in part By "why me, why he?" And thoughts of that you see.
So how can one "grow a heart?" Or is it more carved out by art?
What is that sandpaper Which smooths inside the lining of our nature?
Sacrifice grinds and grates. Also forgiving that person I hate.
Giving up my way for Yours, Changes me from selfish whore.
Only when I'm empty am I strong. Full of hate, I don't belong.
The less I have, the more I hold Glorious gift I now behold!
God of grace, soften my sanded soul; Please pour out Your oil for all.