Oh, Father God,
Guide my feet.
At my arm
through dark of night,
lead me on
at morning’s light.
Hope is a seed laid in the ground,
A prayer for the lost until he’s found.
A yearning heart that waits at home,
A distant voice heard on the phone.
A melody in the dark of night,
A pale blue pledge of morning light.
A wisp of smoke before the flame,
A cloud that promises coming rain.
Dreams may fade,
And plans not last,
Hearts may grow weary,
But hope dies last.
(From The Butterfly and the Stone)
Icy curtain draped on frail limbs,
Fragile twigs like human hearts,
Too weak to bear the load.
Sin’s dark weight.
Wreckage upon the brow of earth,
Hopes strewn carelessly.
Brokenness scattered on the ground.
In such a garden the Father once walked.
Clear the fallen boughs,
Pile high monuments to winter’s vain fury.
For spring promises one bright flower.