Pilgrims we are, passing through this plane
of dismal dreariness, our destination
not this trial-torn, terrestrial turf
where falsehood flaunts its frightful face,
but bound for blessedness and beauty,
land of life and luminous love
where Christ the crucified, our King, controls.
Priesthood we are, presenting praise
in sincere song and saintly sacrifice,
loosing our lips to lift aloft
true tribute, tongue-borne treasure
sent soaring skyward, sounding strong,
to exalt the excellence, the inexpressible
majesty and mystery of the Most High.
Prophets we are, proclaiming peace
despite the dark of war-divided days,
times of terror that try the timid —
peace to prosper and prevail, prepared
for humbled, hurting, hungry hearts
that yield to universal union under One
who enfolds them, eager to the end, in His embrace.
Partakers we are, partners and participants
in godly greatness, by grace grafted
into the Son, the Savior, sent in season
to make known the nature of divinity,
despoiling death, the deep, demonic
forces, freeing His faithful followers
to rise in radiant reflection of His reign.
Peculiar we are, possession of that Power
that called a cosmos to creation uncorrupted,
gave His gracious gift, the Son of God,
to rescue and restore to righteousness
the darkened world man’s disobedience defaced.
Attuned to timeless, eternal destiny
we stand as strangers, stark, misunderstood
by culture’s quailing, trend-conforming
minions, in whose mean, world-mentored mind
we are pasted with this epithet: “peculiar people.”
Published in The Promise by Shirley A. Leonard
©2007 Laudemont Press