Spiritual Drought

One drop of grace!

One drop of grace!

To quench this thirst;

A tongue cracked-dry

Wasteland–  barren desert.

Wouldst there a tree

For shaded comfort;

An eagle high

With spreaded wings.

I need not doubt!

I need not doubt!

Though it seems

Clouds of mercy restrain.

Beating concupiscence 

Marks spiritual drought. 

Sin leaves Man desolate

And hearts without

The confidence of rain.

That there were shelter!

That there were shelter!

From scorpion stings

I afflict myself,

For it’s harder to resist

Death in a place like this.

Days, nights– scores of years

Whence comest Thine help;

Hearest me, Thine ears?

For Thou art near!

For Thou art near!

And what vain wonders,

To worship my fears.

Great I AM, You Are–

Here…within…there!

Let Thy time dictate

How long I wait

To partake in Thy share.

One drop of grace…

I need not doubt

That there were shelter.

For Thou art near!

And truly, just as much

As faithful Truth stands

So beyond, oasis awaits

So beyond this world 

Full of sand. 

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