Holy Ground

A prisoner I no longer am;
From chains I’ve been set free.
No longer slave in eastern lands,
I can be fully me.

The world without so different looks
When my sin taints it not;
I see there’s nothing God forsook—
From all removes sin’s blot.

My freedom means I’m free to see
The goodness lies beneath
And see the world as meant to be
Beneath His olive wreath.

For wreath from Him us all wraps ‘round
As we breathe heaven’s air—
Makes all our earth His holy ground:
Again, His garden fair.