His hands are weak from stroking
His eyes are tired of searching
To stop might mean sinking, or float resting.
To rest is knowing, the rest is fleeting.
To the timeless, years are a moment;
Folds of blessing after he won’t relent.
Save us from our stomachs, O LORD;
Restore him to your embrace.
Our Spirit is the target of the Sword,
Let not terror laugh in his face.
I pray that Your Spirit be his compass;
Returning him to Love, away from error.
I know Your Word must come to pass;
With Joy, I look away from the Mirror.