God’s work unfinished while humans die,
The nations rage, collective sigh,
Hangs over creation a cloud of doom,
Where rust and quiet moth consume.
In the midst of death and quick decay,
A people toil while still it’s day,
A humble folk who know their worth,
As light and salt upon the earth.
Themselves in body, but bent upon heaven,
They seek to touch the lost with leaven,
To save a soul, instill with hope
The lonely and sad who in darkness grope
At only what the eye can see,
Who do not know that they must flee
The day of the Lord, his coming wrath —
So saints proclaim the only Path.
With groanings for that eternal time
When wars will cease, and life sublime
Will rule the heart, enliven the soul,
Disciples hasten to make men whole.
With an eye to earth, another to clouds,
They claim the kingdom that comes is God’s,
Awaiting the hour of the Lord who came,
When angels again will announce his Name.