Undone

This world is wrong, this much I know.

We act as if it isn’t so;

Yet those who see with keener eye

Witness to us from down below.

They hear your ev’ry step and tread

While lying in their earthen beds

As if the lea were little more

Than rafters o’er their sleeping heads.

Though in their slumber but a shell,

Their shadows tinge this waking hell

With yet a blacker color still—

The silver of the mourning bell.

With voices cracked like brittle rust

They cry to us from ‘neath the dust—

“Look, you, what comes of playing God!

Behold the price paid for our lust!

“That grave mistake so long ago

Which brought humanity so low

Has wasted all within its reach;

The soul is maimed, mortally so!”

Yet though they speak, we dare not see

The grim truth of finality—

That what we’ve done can’t be undone

Except by God’s holy decree.

And so man lives like death is feigned,

And God is dead, and creatures reign;

The omen ringing out unheard—

Humanity’s unheeded bane.

Yet for those heark’ning to the call

A better word holds them in thrall,

More excellent than Abel’s blood,

A word which lifts earth’s somber pall.

This word comes to them from a throne

And by it in the dark is shone

A light which illumines the land,

A light by which they journey home.

This word is trustworthy and true—

“Behold! I’m making all things new

And when I come, from ev’ry tear,

I’ll make the glist’ning morning dew.

“So worry not, my little ones,

Though evil seems to overrun,

For when my feet doth touch the ground

Ev’ry sorrow shall come undone

All your sorrows shall come undone.”