Poetry

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Israel! Israel! Oh, how we watch and we wait,
wringing our hands over your final fate.

Though centuries have passed since you first did appear,
the covenant has changed to those whose hearts hear.

But still, your enemies encroach, and the world beats its breast,
give up more land, so terrorism may rest.

Though evidence of this, we fail to observe,
The violence still hoped, will somehow be curbed.

But worry not, circumcised Christians of heart,
The Jerusalem we wait for will not fall apart.

For physical destruction of this Holy land,
will not come about, by the work of ones hand.

The Temple is no longer a physical place,
It is in the body of believers, the temple of Grace.

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