Verse 1 They heard it from the mountain, carried it in the ark, took His hand out of Egypt, then broke it in the dark. He said, Not like that covenant— the one they would not keep. A husband left standing while the vow went to sleep. Chorus I will put my law within them, write it on the heart. I will be their God, and they will be my people. From the least up to the greatest they will know My name. I will forgive their iniquity. I will not call the sin to mind again. Verse 2 A heart of stone is living. It beats. It wants. It burns. It just will not be broken where the holy word turns. Set hard like adamant so nothing gets inside— not deaf for lack of hearing, but hearing that will not abide. Verse 3 A heart of flesh is living too, but living toward the voice. Not frail, not merely tender— a heart that can be pierced and still rejoice. Taken as a gift, not carved by human skill: the stone drawn out of flesh, the flesh made able to be still and walk. Chorus I will put my law within them, write it on the heart. I will be their God, and they will be my people. From the least up to the greatest they will know My name. I will forgive their iniquity. I will not call the sin to mind again. Bridge Jeremiah named the writing. Ezekiel named the stone. Same wound under both of them: a law outside a will that would not own. The new is not a softer rule. The new is where it’s placed— inside the life that broke it, by the hand that writes in grace. Last chorus Write it on the heart. Take the stone away. Give the flesh that listens. Teach the feet to stay. I will be their God. They will be Mine. The covenant made new where the breaking used to hide.
