O rend the sky and dwell with us, o Lord -
The old refrain, the tired plea we make
In all our weary moanings o'er the sword
Of hostil times - old enemies that take
Away our joy and sense of You. And in
The absence that we face, we look to see,
But cannot see, the love we feel within
Our quickened beating hearts - the joyful glee -
When you, our God, are with us in the mess
And brokenness that we call life. With sad,
Pathetic lamentation, we address
The hole we find; in it we are made glad
For in the hidden places You do dwell,
The secret space is where we are made well.
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