Our redeemer lives,
Bronzed and holding out His hands,
To grasp creation and all twisted powers,
He holds them by their throats,
Their pulses through His mangled palms,
They dare not blink apart His commands,
They only twitch for final good,

Yet we shall walk in faithful steps,
For we cannot see such lofty things,
Only glancing touches in the mortal dust,
And know a loving father's mighty wings,
Carry us through painful rust,
That seems to eat and leave void in wake,
But we shall fear and love the one who redeems the soul.