Love That Wins
(F minor — Ritardando)
I
The trees looked down each sodden path and agonized in dread
the horrors that they contemplated weighed on them like lead

the budding rod the manna pot the broken Law
forged in anvil-shattered care

they cried out all is lost is lost and tossed their leaves away
in disbelief at what they saw throughout the earth that day
the manna pot the broken Law the budding rod
Eternity is hammered there
the younger trees now gathered strength to daunt discouraged sighs
to echo restoration’s grace in spite of evil’s lies
the broken Law the budding rod the manna pot
metal tested hard and cold
the fountains heard them shout a chorus brightly bathed in prayer
impossible with man this is but God can walk on air
the manna pot the budding rod the broken Law
anvil-broken trodden gold
II
O lazurite to whose frankincense the birches now take flight
as amethyst doves among spikenard elms spread wings
and drench their robes where suffering purple sings
let lapis lazuli dye the cloth that veils the sacred ark tonight
the broken Law the manna pot the budding rod
the anvilhead of the living God
with the needle of ambition and the thread of pride
who sews back together again the veil that was rent
when the dear Savior died?
the budding rod the broken Law the manna pot
a holy God the emerald bends
maples, hide the Law beneath prophecy’s majestic child
amnesties are reflected in the blessed hope and ruby shield
where greens and reds across His promised entrance yield
and the palms cleave alexandrite to nourish the meek and mild
the cherubim the mercy seat the sprinkled blood
and forgiveness to the rainbow lends
with the stitch of oppression and the patch of disbelief
who merchandises holy work and barters souls
who seek the Lamb’s relief?
III
the mercy seat the sprinkled blood the cherubim
time is hammered thin
The spruce gathers selenite and reflects moon glow
cedar and ash and cypress caress rose quartz
to nourish blackest obsidian and azurite-malachite
a King is crowned among both high and low
the sprinkled blood the cherubim the mercy seat
torqued on wood is holy skin
O the beggar-child’s soul—what is it worth?
Destroy them I will, who destroy the earth!
the mercy seat the cherubim the sprinkled blood
hammered flesh sold and bought
what Mercy sought!
 
Copyright ©1989, 2005, 2009 by Robert E. Romanelli PhD