When grace is scorned, the Word of God we take,
No gentle peace, but truth’s own sharpened blade,
A biblical stand against the dark we make,
To pierce the lies where evil’s roots are laid.
This sword, God’s voice, ignites the soul to rise,
When sin’s black veil would choke the light away,
With Scripture’s edge, we meet the serpent’s eyes,
Its holy writ our strength in fierce array.
Yet still we grieve the grace so lightly tossed,
The mercy spurned by hearts too proud to bend,
For though the Word cuts deep what sin has cost,
Love’s balm could heal where judgment seeks to rend.
So armed with God’s own sword, we stand as one,
Yet pray for grace when righteous wrath is done.