Why should He, from His pearled throne
Stoop down to my place in the dust?
Where I sit with the rest alone,
Where my flesh rots and metal rusts,
Where we all breathe the same foul air,
Of discontent and sick desire,
Ever craving, ever wanting, ever slaving,
For more, more, more, more and evermore,
Lost in our self-piteous despair,
Til at last, we broken, expire.
Blind all the while to who we wrong,
Deaf all the while to the sun’s song,
As we toil in our mine,
Shackled in our minds.
And when a Man came to spike our chains,
We put a few spikes through Him,
Put two through His feet,
And two through His hands.
We called Him a witch, a liar, a fool,
He could easily have called us thus back.
He could have smote us to hell and back,
And He’d have the right of it, this Man of God.
And so many years ago, this very same God,
Could have smote old Israel right into the sod.
To a man of the dust, love’s just a word.
To a man of the flesh, a promise is a hope.
But to the Man of the Spirit, the Man of Hope,
Love’s a constant that just can’t be broke.
A promise is more than words and a hope;
From the El Shaddai, great Adonai,
Whose words shaped stars and skies,
His promise is law.