And I said, “What shall I cry?”
All people are grass,
their constancy is like the flower of the field.
The grass withers, the flower fades,
when the breath of the Lord blows upon it;
surely the people are grass.
The grass withers, the flower fades;
but the word of our God will stand forever.
So much conspires to keep us silent:
Faith thought unfashionable
A crutch for the weak
Far easier to worship the earth
Or each other
Or nothing at all
Rather than exalt the
Living God Everlasting.
His name no longer spoken
At school or work,
Acknowledged one hour a week
Forgotten by most.
Sing of His glory
In joy and gratitude
Even if lacking harmony,
We are not to be silenced
While we have tongues.
If we do not shout and cry out loud,
Nor spread branches at His feet,
If too worried what others might think,
The stones will cry out and will not stop,
As He, in deepest sorrow, weeps for us.