Come thou burning hand and sword. Clutch and cling to flesh and sting. Burn away rot and mire. Reign o Lord. Wring out mildewed wrath and sing. The wolves will have their day, after the last sheep finds the fold. Let angry rods and staves delay the encroaching demonic horde untold. Whips and barbs stick in his side, though spiritual balms assuage. The lost lamb, suckling, needs life. Vesper light and distant cityscape presage That a Gladsome Passover shall come. A ripping of heavenly spheres undone , A hound of heaven shall chase and rescue out of thicket, us, with haste.
