Saturday, 18 June 2016

We Mourn Sore Like Doves

On Sunday we took our rest
Like the Creator, our God
In whose image we are made
For we are creators too
And we too need a rest

Sunday is the Lord’s Day
When from death he was raised
Foul sin he vanquished
Death’s sting he removed
And the just he did save

In the street truth lies fallen
Reflection is on the run
Work is mere function
Pleasure we worship
The machine goes on and on

The Sabbath rest, the Lord’s feast
The reward for our faith
The promise of the free
We must now retrieve
Else we are nothing but beasts

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