Under Attack Every Which Way

11-27-dark-walk (2)

The Prophet must be right

Or all is lost

Men outside the walls

Taunt victories of their King


No nation stands

He likens Egypt, wealthy Egypt

To a flimsy walking stick.

He rolls over idols

And false hopes.

Tells our people of a lovely

Exiled way for the taking.

Eliakim rent his clothes

In the telling

So did I at the hearing.

A King – a-cowering.

Those spears, arrows and horses

So real…so present.

And I have only a word

Of a strange man

Becoming stranger:

“Fear not oh Jacob

Only believe oh Israel

For I have redeemed you

Refreshed you

And will bring about

Before your eyes

Total victory.

Sennacherib’s haught

Coming to nought

His departure final.”

…And now there is this sickness

My years flee away as a scroll

My hopes unfulfilled

Tear-streaming face

I turn toward the wall

And call and call

Your mercy my all

In this sore trouble.

Inflaming boil

My waters roil.

Your word so simple

That even the sun

Will be pulled back ten

To prove your keeping love

Time and again

For virgin daughter of Zion,

For David’s throne

For me.

(Isaiah chapters 36 through 38 and Hezekiah’s plight)



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