Gasping for Joy
Cynic’s smoke thickens tight,
and damps my eyes to the light.
The Devil taunts, “You need not pray,
your mythic Jesus so far away.”
I rustle and wriggle in the chains;
I gasp for joy amid the pains
of doubt and dread and mortal fear.
My spirit weeps and strains to hear
the bells of heaven ringing loud,
proclaiming Christ prevailing proud.
The soul bows, and the heart prays,
“Jesus, you’re near all my days.
Come and heal this rebel heart,
let me grasp your hem and start
to know you and make you known
from the caverns inside to the nations!
I wait for the fullness of celebrations.
Till then, search me through this hellish haze,
deliver me from the Devil’s maze.
I pray to one who listens keen
to hear the pleas of the redeemed.
So seal me dearly with your Spirit
and preserve me in truth till I hear it
clear and see it whole at your throne
above.” Friends, I cry, seek to own
a salvation whose trump sings of peace
and dispels this martial fog a sinful soul apiece!
