newday25
Contraheavenly the synthetics rise,
Hardy scarabs defiant flies,
So poised against the sky's rebuke,
They teem with animating life,
Though they themselves sit hollow in their ranks.
What wondrous kindling does make,
A contrite heart and budding love,
A muttered and exalted prayer,
On weary and impassioned lips,
With weak men You, Lord, level hills,
With killers You make merry saints,
With paupers You do shepherd kings,
We long to see what You will do with us!
Steady over sun-kissed fields,
The Lord deals mightily with me,
Firm seat of all the fears I yield,
What heights to which He cares for me!
Again I fall so stricken weak,
So full of little weariness,
But here a brother! This I seek,
Who tells me that the Lord's done more with less,
Who speaks to me the grace that we do share.
Such varied and beloved saints,
Walk with me in haphazard rise,
Pearly bared teeth and joyous bounds,
Upturned lips, wise wrinkled eyes,
That swallow me in faithful love,
That mark a kinship cutting through,
The deepest differences to find,
A wounded king that bridges to,
Such varied and beloved saints.
With the open heavens for choice,
With each galactic throne to greet,
You choose to not withhold your voice,
To make this tiny tent your seat,
O You, Great God, are greater than all words,
For you make mighty men of weak,
That you would shame all things that are,
With that that's not but humbly seeks.
Astounding clockwork from such cobbled cogs,
A pinky lick with blue on sharpened teeth,
As such we uniform our grand machine,
As such we preach a unity despite,
And each turns eyes above to pray,
For grace and glory that exceeds our toil.
Light crackles hitch to rain,
They punctuate a crispened air,
And eve is freshly made anew,
Left with the marks of very God.