Between the streets of skepticism strong,
if when you lace the light of joy and fail,
if violent gestures thick command the throng,
and solemn lips proclaim their faith went stale
then Halt! and know that I believe: the hands
that heal though we have pierced them in our sin,
the generations numbered as the sands,
the golden book, and seeds of faith within

My voice which beckons from a distance space
and begs you to sustain your love through grace.