reproach

Once like a pall hanging over,
The burden of shame and scorn,
The reproach spoken over our past and present,
Covering our eyes, wedging our feet in the scar,
Wrought all along the dirt.

And the sorrow of sorrows,
Not that these voices ceased not,
But that the sounds of derision ringing our ears,
Were words coming from our own lips.
Manacled by unseen shackles,
We, the objects of our own reproach.

But we hear a whisper in the quiet,
A hope that the shroud may yet be lifted,
Of one who is able, even more willing.
Delay not, o Saviour,
Lift this cloud over our hearts,
This chain we cannot escape,
Because each link is our self.
Redeem our future from the past,
And make this present a blessing.

sč
Singapore, April 14th, 2008