The planet groans from pains of the Fall,
And we, O Lord, your people, too,
Oppressed in flesh, on us the pall
Of anguished death — naught can we do.
No, naught but call upon your Name,
In sorrowed grief, in tears, remorse,
Divert from hell our harrowed course,
Descend to us, remove our shame.
Give anguished souls your clear relief,
From slavish selves come down, redeem,
Prise from our hands our idle scheme,
Turn flinted choice to sound belief.
Return to us the joy of truth,
Reveal that loves and dreams exist
For aged men and foolish youth —
Make real your presence in our midst.
—JRMatheny © 2013