When man turns blind to heaven’s sacred light,
And casts aside the grace that once was giv’n,
The heart grows cold, entombed in endless night,
A soul adrift, unmoored from peace with heav’n.
The Son, who bore the cross with love divine,
Is spurned by pride, by greed, by fleeting gain,
Yet still His mercy flows, a boundless sign,
Though mortals mock and tread upon His pain.
The world decays where faith has ceased to bloom,
Its roots uptorn by hands that once were blessed,
And shadows deepen in the spirit’s gloom,
A hollow echo of what man professed.
Yet should he seek, the Father’s arms abide,
For love outlasts the folly of man’s pride.