When silent tongues refuse to name the sin,
The righteous falter, cloaked in timid peace,
The church, a shepherd, locks its flock within,
While wolves of vice grow bold and fears increase.
No clarion call to pierce the shadowed air,
No fire to burn the chaff from sacred ground,
The meek inherit naught but cold despair,
When courage lies entombed, no trumpets sound.
Yet once were prophets bold with blazing word,
Who shook the thrones of kings with heaven’s might,
Their echoes fade where cowardice is stirred,
And truth retreats beneath a shroud of night.
O rise, ye souls, let not the dark prevail,
For silence bends the just to wickedness’ gale.