The whole world is his, all of it’s powers.
He placed us all here, we act like it’s ours.
He gives us our orders, yet test him we must,
Hasten we to return to the dust.
He keeps us alive. We treat him as dead.
Ignoring his Word, preferring our head.
He renews our mind, with his revelation.
We’d rather leave him, outside the equation.
He saves the soul that answers his call.
He heals with his wounds. He fixes our fall.
“It’s all good” is wrong. That’s not even close.
“It’s all His” is right, We’re His to foreclose.
Cucumber Lodge 