When shaded clouds shroud the land in darkness,
the wolves come prowling for their prey.
Set to tear the flock asunder,
searching diligently for the stray.
Their teeth are bared, their throats are growling,
their lips crave blood torn from the flesh of the weak.
The pack is circling, drawing in closer
to steal the simple,
kill the gentle,
destroy the meek.
Quiet whispers render the silence,
an eerie beckoning that disturbs the soul.
Deceivers arise to collect their share,
not content with part, lusting for the whole.
Promising sustenance, fulfillment, glory,
the empty covenant of ruthless beasts.
Luring the wayward further from hope,
stealing devotion,
killing faith,
destroying peace.
But in radiant splendor the Righteous One arrives,
clothed with robes of majestic white.
The thieves tremble in tawdry disdain,
stumbling blindly through His redeeming light.
Prone to wander, my heart is yearning
to hear my Savior invite me near.
For His voice drives out all darkness,
purging the herd of any doubt or fear.
Gift of God,
living hope,
restoring love,
His abundant grace is ours to keep.
He makes me lie down in contented sleep,
the Prince of Peace, Great I AM, Gate of the sheep.
By Alison Brooke