Better a small spark of flame
From hot coals and ash
Than a great bolt of light
That goes out with a flash

.

The snow may cover,
But cannot ****,
The Life below

.

The clouds may obscure,
But cannot vanish,
The Sun above

.

Behold the King upon His throne
Who utters judgments set in stone
He gives the wicked what they earn:
The death for which their own hearts yearn

Though oft for filthy, guilty men
Whose sins no scribe could tell by pen
This King, in love, steps off His throne
And trades their rags for His own robe

.

Behold the Man who goes to see
The New Creation then set free
The place no sins or sorrows grow
The Promised Land to come aglow

Oh flee the gates of Babylon!
The ***** who feeds on her own spawn...
May Zion be your heav’nly home
The City where true lovers roam

.

Behold the dreadful Horns of Red
The Beasts who trample o’er the dead
Who roar and gore and raise their heads
In challenge to the One who bled –

The One who willfully was pierced
Whose will is strong, whose love is fierce
Who crushes Altars men revere
That they may see through their veneer

.

Behold the Man upon His steed
Who comes to comfort those in need…
Yea, in The Deep of fear and death
Where sons of Asaph hold their breath

He fashions rivers from The Sea
And sees the leaves of ev’ry tree…
Yea, even now, from Hollow Ground
New life is springing all around

.