"Hours of Flight"

Hours of Flight

Allan M. Bailey

“...The truth shall make you free.”¹ said He.

Live, and Love, in Light.

Hopeful yearnings, betrayed by some

Can cause internal flight.

Yet the days go by and time marches on,

They are the friend of none;

Divine partitions, lines in the sand

A refugee, and not, a son.

Drawn to Light, and compelled to death

A sojourner in the land--

Spiritual refugees--

Are more than wind-whipped desert sand.

Ostracism creates withdrawal.

Hate in Jesus' name?

Respecting not the proud²

Means that someone is to blame.

The war rages on, the scars run deep,

Hope rears its fateful head.

Screams within the darkest night,

demand the spirit must be fed.

"Sweet hour of prayer! Sweet hour of prayer!

That calls me from a world of care,

And bids me at my Father's throne

Make all my wants and wishes known.

In seasons of distress and grief

My soul has often found relief,

And oft' escaped the tempter's snare,

By thy return Sweet Hour of Prayer."³

A beaten dog always knows its place.

He seeks his master's hand.

Trepidly, prepared, to bite and run--

A stranger, in a foreign land.

Truth perseveres and Hope remains.

All hands, hold not, a whip.

Truth ensconced in human lies

is Truth, yet truth to wit.

“All extremes become their opposites.”

Heathen Confucius, did once say.

Fishers of men, consume the fish.

Faithlessness, abounds, today.⁴

Yet the burning question, remains for all...

'What, of what you've found?'

Pain is the greatest teacher.⁵

There seems much pain all-'round.

Embrace the Truth, through the searing pain.

Draw near, and see the Light.⁶

Look-full on The Master's face, and know

That He, has not willed, the fight.⁷

Strife and scorn, spite and vice--

Evil in the night--

Wicked dissimulation—

beyond, the resistance of might⁸⁹

Masters, who beat, the sheep;

Are not shepherds of the fold.

The resources of, the ninety and nine--

They'd rather, more, to hold.

Sweet Hour of Prayer—it calls me still

And bids me do my Father's will.

The hand which ever holds a whip

Will of a truth, surreal-ly slip.

Beyond the fearsome stormy blast

The Father's love is sure and fast.

Truth ever lives, beyond decay

And hearkens to that fateful day;

When all the world, shall know and kneel

And yield to God's desire to heal.

Oh may He bid that day draw nigh

A find beneath a parted sky;

Faithful children, waiting still

to heedless, do, their Father's will.

Allan

1John 8.32

2James 4

3“Sweet Hour of Prayer!” William B. Bradbury, Public domain

4Ezekiel 34 (The Faithless Shepherds)

5Prometheus

6James 4

7James 4

8Romans 12.9

9Wikipedia, Dissimulation, Accessed: August 15, 2009