by Ron Ben-Dov
We were working together, but ah, to no avail;
A voyage of discovery, upon the gallant ship,
Sails unfurled in all their glory, guided by a friend;
Blinded by the bling, the air grew still and stale,
A foul stench did arise, and darkness did descend;
In the distance on the ebbing tide,
A ship sank lower and wallowed in the sea;
A derelict with not a soul seen stirring,
Cast adrift with tattered sails,
Rudderless – no hand at its helm;
Yet the wheel starts turning,
We see no one at the helm;
Steadier still, under guiding hand,
Yet no one do we see;
We strain our eyes,
Can you see him?
As the brightness grew until a blinding light,
The Lord our God, His steady hand is tightly on the helm;
The torn and tattered sails miraculously healed,
Wind from foul to fair is turned,
Foul water pumped overboard, the ship rides much higher,
The darkness is lifted and his glory brightens the day;
The blinding light of our Lord guides our fragile ship,
Through the temptation of the shoals,
Around the devilish riptides,
And through the massive breakers;
As he brings the ship safely to the shore,
Our souls are saved and we disembark;
We walk with him along the sacred shore;
As we watch the derelict,
Once again, it is drug out to sea,
Once again, we have a choice,
Choose to walk with God,
Or drown in our despair.
