From dusty ground a cloud comes forth,
from feet constrained by chains,
with backs broken by the work
of evil men’s dark will.
But never can they change the worth
of men under their reign,
never whip that flesh does jerk
be ever free to kill.
These wicked men will ever be
like grass in desert dry,
growing quickly with the dew
and burning in the sun.
And never in eternity
will holy God’s mouth cry,
“Blessings ever over you
and to my courts now run.”
But all dark foes that scar my back
are not from lands afar,
oft’ they come from lusts within
that tear my soul in two.
They war and rage and oft’ attack
my will, and then they scar
heart and then deep ruts of sin
long keeps my life from you.
These foes so dark that live in me
shall never prosper long.
Son shall rise and conquer them
and burn them from my life.
And someday soon will I be free
to sing a vict’ry song
and see holy diadem
that conquered all my strife.
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