Tho’ the righteous shed it oft too soon,
Their mortal tent is just cocoon
Which in life they toil to spin
To emerge forever free from sin;
The silken faith from which it’s framed
Will reveal the glory at which they aimed.
Changed in the twinkling of an eye,
A Voice will call them to the sky
And from heaven the cry will ring —
“Where, O death, is now your sting?”
I speak to you the language of my soul —
not from a piece, but the whole —
you will not hear it, you see your way —
so what is left for us to say?
Once, I gazed into your eyes
and saw a willing compromise …
that twinkling gleam, now turned stone,
crushes the heart and chills the bone.
Two became one, now becoming two —
Is this what you dreamed when you said, “I do?”
Imagine the thoughts of your mind
as a stream,
flowing ahead and trailing behind,
like a dream.
All those you pass by
must enter its wake —
say none remain dry,
just for argument’s sake.
Now waded through,
reflecting back from their shore,
would many or few
emerge changed by the chore?