"My blemishes he will not see..."

Now when the King at table sits,

My spikenard smelleth sweet,

And myrrh and camphire from my store

I pour upon his feet.

My thankful love must be displayed,

He loved and wooed a beggar maid.

Ye daughters of Jerusalem,

I'm black to look upon

As goatskin tents; but also as

The tent of Solomon.

Without, I bear the marks of sin,

But Love's adorning is within.

Despise me not that I am black,

The sun hath burned my face,

My mother's children hated me,

And drove me from my place.

In their vineyards I toiled and wept.

But mine own vineyards have not kept.

I am not fair save to the King,

Thought fair my royal dress,

His kingly grace is lavished on

My need and worthlessness.

My blemishes he will not see

But loves the beauty that shall be.

-Hinds Feet on High Places