by William Scott
Though love's rage has placed itself deep
In my bones I still wonder how
Much longer should I hope to keep
Faith sweet beneath the dogged flow
Of this vile sour-watered creek.
I am, just a man, attempting
The work of a god as there were
None who could by blood or by ink
Scribe the will of melody fair
Upon remnant hearts a'waiting.
For sin is burning acrid in
These throats of ours that used to sing
The songs of that now forgotten
Verve standing hopeful upon brink
Before the battle hot began.
(Memory of her gracious smile
Is held in-caged within my heart
Protected and protecting while
Froward flows against me so hard
This current will of mankind vile.)
But stand I will though die will I
Held fast by Christ's own stubbornness
Against both sloth and tyranny
No longer hoping to posses
But safeguarding hope contrary.