I HEAR THE MERCY ANGELS RUSH

The gentle breeze of spring has ceased.

The heart yet beats, but finds it hard,

for that it's set itself a lease: hold on

till the decisive yard.

And so with slow reluctanc

with Jesus Christ we'll count the nails,

we'll smear on Life's holy substance

erect all crosses up to scale.

Still how I want to breathe the

freshness still travel while I’m on my

voyage, if the air is old and tested,

I'll head the line; but foremost loyal.

I hear the mercy angels rush.

A silver cross they try to trade.

my Timeless shard has not been crushed:

I hold a little clump of clay.