May Mercy’s Providence be never slowed
or stopped, may it continue to be known,
so ice may die into the water’s flood,
and fire come to flow like blazing blood.
We spill in fountains at the touch of God,
His shattering embrace, blistering hug,
so that we may become the emblem of
impossible departure, and of love.
The incandescent hardships that are ours
become too much to bear, too strong, too sour,
leaving a taste of ash and ringing ears,
and, if I’m to be truthful, wicked fear.
That, of course, only if all is placed
into the hands of we who are displaced,
blindly resolved to journey back to Home,
but to rely’s a feat beyond our own.
Thus, hardship doth entail endless pain
if God is not relied upon, not claimed,
as is a lofty raft of meagre make
upon the Ocean-waters of today.