On those dark nights
when mammon, loss and lifely pressures
drag my mind to the wooden coffin
they call, “the house of the lord”,
“the mansion” he said he would,”go to prepare,”

in those times I see it
as the all in all and end all
and it is a lonely hour.

But,
then, the Son rises and my soul sings
the old songs I had forgotten,
I find the old faith I had lost.
And they weave for the coffin, wings,
so I, someday, safely stowed,
may fly away home

to where my bloody Savior waits
with bleeding brow
and whip-scarred, open arms
spread wide in welcome.
And in His embrace,
I am washed
in the blood of the lamb.

And then, I remember.
It was He took on the Darkness,
leaving me, the Light.