Will this burning tower one day Become a castle, glowing with order? Will the rot of grandeur one day yield To soft humility?
The children go into captivity From the unseen adversary— Will they yet bear the guilt Of stumbling fathers?
Yet life is small; Its daily rhythms a clay pot Subduing chaos, or keeping it A fertile ground in which to grow.
Let us seek our ways and search them out. For each moment is filled with His glory Neither in the future nor the past But here. Now. In the ruins in which we do not dare to pray.
For each moment is filled with His glory.
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