BY LOST YOUTHS OF YESTERYEAR?
WEAKENED, HUMBLED SOULS, PARED DOWN BY TWO THOUSAND YEARS OF ADULTEDNESS,
STRUGGLING ONES, BURIED UNDER WINTRY TRADITIONS, SERVING WITH MOCKING TOLERANCE,
WHILE LITTLE ONES WANDER IN AVENUES OF DAILY BLOOMING DISASTER, SUFFERING AND WONDERING, WHY?
REMINDERS ARE GIVEN BY BOOKISH ONES
FROM CITY LANES AND COUNTRY HOMES,
LESSONS OF INJURIES AND MARTYRDOMS,
POINTING THE WAY AHEAD
TO THOSE WHO WOULD SEE.
COME, DAY OF GOD, COME!
STAR-GOWNED SINGERS, GROWN IN SIN,
MOURN IN A MAJOR KEY,
SURROUNDED BY STONE AND WOOD AND BRASS.
IMPRESSIVE EXPRESSIONS!
AND YET THE SWEETEST SOUNDING NOTE
BE JUNK...TO HIM WHO WANTS ONLY...LOVE...CALLED...STRONG!
THE PRAISE OF GOD A MINOR THING?
SPIRIT TRULY SHRIEKS WITHIN!
BUT, O WHAT JOY!
TO FIND TRADITION SPRING TO LIFE,
BUDDING INTO MARVELOUS FLOWER,
ACTIVATED BY THE HOLY SPIRIT TO SING AFRESH
AND SHOUT THE GREAT NEWS
OF THE WORLD-MORN TO COME!
AND SO THE ULTIMATE REWARD
OF DIVINE PATIENCE
SHALL INDEED REST IN THE MAJESTIC PRESENCE OF JESUS,
COME, LORD, COME!
