Lord of the Centuries

Lord of the centuries,
Knit of our pain the knots
That mysteriously arrange themselves.

Guide by unseen fingers
Each little pearl,
To form a cloth alive withYour Golden threads,
Infinitely more than happenstance or tragedy.

Each strand of Time a Mystery,
Bathed in trial and tears,
Yet rich in awe,
Resplendent in beauty,
And the gracious magnitude
Of sacrificial love.

Whole cloth,
Woven into a seamless robe,
You don in magesty,
Humble and meek in triumph o’r our graves
As Life welcomes to the Banquet,
Our souls, now clothed in bodies,
One with Your Own.

copyright 2015 Joann Nelander

Joann Nelander

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