My mouth is shut, my pen is dry.
The air lies still ‘neath darkened sky.
The ground is cracked, yet will not drink.
It cursed itself to ever shrink.
There is no ear I’ve not beseeched,
Which God has summoned me to reach.
Yet words I spoke were heard as wind;
And echoed back as mockers grinned.
I know that this He promised me,
How in this world these things would be.
So let not any reader fear,
Except in how they see and hear.
For now it is made manifest
How many fail His every test.
And those that now His anger sense.
Are praying for His recompense.
Beware lest any man now say
That I have left behind the Day,
To write such sore and woeful verse
– As though it were to them a curse.
For of these seasons I do glean
A tempered soul, by men unseen;
To set my face like flint through pain
That in the coming storm, Christ reign.
And on the other side, now dim,
The curtain of these rainclouds grim
Will open up to days so bright
Our eyes will know our faith as sight.
Therefore, let the mockers grin,
It is not I who bears their sin;
But He who sees will not delay
To strike the wicked where they lay.
And Jesus said to him, “Follow me, and leave the dead to bury their own dead.”
Matthew 8:22 (ESV)