A sound of worship
A fortress we are made; Through the mounting praise We have raised To the triune canonical lord. Whose hands have raised our lives. By one man we are beaten By another, we have risen In his heart, he lifts the unsound soul Fasten to the boundless pit again At a priceless sinner prided pain. Soft and slowly; mundane and strong, Solo and brass, chord and string; The heart that's bruised is here to sing, New worship, of a new age. Ayeni Taiwo ©2022 Read: Other poems from this blog Previous post Photo credit: pixebay