The wicked man’s mind runs glad
With evil thoughts and he can’t sleep.
His heart tramps from wrong to wrong
In a dim parade, full of all the wrong fears.
He wonders why he would let this glamour go
Once he got it started. He spins traps
And hangs them in corners. Words tumble
Out of his mouth like black spiders.
He tells himself he’ll stand
Infinity on edge and flick it so it spins.
But there is another wisdom and no one
Has found the end of it. God’s love.
You can’t shake it. It is as solid
As a mountain and doesn’t rattle.
The clouds are not higher
Than the measure of God's love,
Nor the stars, nor the farthest
Flung distant folly of hope.
We can hide in it, feast on it,
Drink it in, dare gale darlings
Fledged under bright wings.
It is free for the taking every morning
As much as hand can hold or heart gather.
It is a light strung between stars in long lines,
Wide and white against the blank dark.
God, keep me in the slow lathe of your love.
Make my soul’s bones hone and spin.
Lift me up but lay low
And unlace every evil plan.
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