Poetry

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What do they think
As the heathen rage
Unable to reason
The black on the page

Kings, yes kings
Exalt their thrones
And join with rulers
To stand alone

God’s own strength
Will break their bands
And remove their staffs
From off the land

He will laugh
Until his wrath is free
An set them all
Upon the knee

His words they burn
To them He speaks
They melt away
The bones do creak

Wait, oh wait
He sets His King
On Zion’s’ hill
Above all things

Ask of Him
Their gold He gives
To each of them
That within Him lives

He will crush their heads
And mince the bone
And only He
Will stay the throne

Hear this oh kings
Love the wise
And, in Him
Do not despise
Revere Him alone
Kneel in fear
Rejoice with trembling
To Him draw near

To the Son
A Holy kiss
Blessed are they
Bathe in His bliss

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