The Humble Things
Raging winds of confusion rise
In this, the ending time;
Suddenly awakened, the dove cries out--
As whirlwinds scream and whine--
This storm was born in prosperity,
For fake light and lies deemed true--
God's word ever holy, thunders
Tossing silly plans askew.
Behold: rains ravage mountains
And thunder confounds the sky;
Men connive in folly and pride to profit
As little birds croon and sigh--
But look! Glory rises for the longing
Of wing, and prayer, and bud;
All those that flutter underneath
Will lift to the Saviour's love.
Seed-- and bird-- and orphan--
Turn within this arc;
Creation bends, a circle--
God spun the world with spark.
Oh, little dove, yet trembling
Be still that frantic wing;
For the Father hears your lonesome cry,
And regards the humble things.
(~Abby Elizabeth Charland
God is not a man, that he should lie; neither the son of man, that he should repent: hath he said, and he shall not do it? Or hath he spoken, and shall not make it good?
--Numbers 23:19