The Spirit of the Lord is in this place.
I feel his presence looming large with grace,
And mercies fresh and boundless as the sea,
Which laps the shorelines of eternity.
Standing on the wall, his bow is drawn,
His jealous gaze intently fixed upon
Those hearts he made and loved and died to save,
Whom now, like creatures crawling through dark caves,
Bow down to formless masters that enslave
And rend their souls, and utterly deprave.
His fingers draw the bowstring o'er and o'er,
Each volley humming, striking low'r and low'r,
Assaulting strongholds of the human heart,
A master craftsman of his noble art.
His pow'rful words fly swiftly o'er the land—
Eternal arrows in the Archer's hand.
"For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart."
—Hebrews 4:12 (NIV)