My fingers twang the bowstring.

Arrows flying from the tower

Land whole armies at my feet.

What is one human,

That God should know or care about him or his children?

Steam clouds, shadows in the air.

Lightning makes the mountains smoke;

Broken sunlight, rainbows.

Nock your shafts, Lord, fix

Those strangers speaking languages

With no word for truth,

Who hold one hand out fingers crossed behind their back.

Teach me to pluck the heartstring, sing

Like David did before

Those strangers speaking languages

With no word for truth.

Set our sons in glazed

Enamelled tile patterns, inlaid

Daughters, walls and pillars.

Keep our pantries stocked with meat, fruit, grain, and drink.

Let no guest uninvited, come,

Nor welcomed, go.

When miseries shout in the street,

Take them in hand.

Articles by Laurance Wieder

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