Tribulation, nigh at hand, with all Travail about, Keep the watch for what's left to be, Blow Trumpet, give a Shout.
END OF STORY
By Arley Steinhour 021812
Dear Father God, would you mind,
If I just chat and ramble?
So many things of diverse kind,
Makes mortality like a gamble.
The Holy Word, that came from you,
On Sinai, your Holy Mountain,
Lay down a guide of laws, but few,
That you want man to ascertain.
Three point five Millennia, ago,
You wrote out all to Moses,
Since, man added to the flow,
Laws now run out of our noses.
Laws you gave, are hung out to dry,
We barely know now what they say,
The laws of man often say yours lie,
You gave them on a 'Bad Hair day.'
Our teachers trying to bring us back,
To your Truth, in how things be,
The 'Modern Experts' give no slack,
Demanding marriage can be He with He.
We do not pay our children's fare,
within your Holy Spirit Guide,
We ship them to the 'Fair' 'Day-Care,'
Behind new laws, they're taught to hide.
Our children think it's properly Fair,
To Lie, to Cheat, and Steal,
When they want, they do not care,
They can do just as they 'Feel.'
In the Days of Noah, sons, and wives,
Again, of Lot, wife, and daughters, living,
Surrounded by world, where Sin Strives,
To remove Your Blessing and Your Giving.
The cycle of man is back in mire,
Mankind wrests control, again, from you,
Many doing what Sin does desire,
With Faithful in You, becoming too Few.
For Faith in You, we're hated,
Our 'Right' is now called 'Wrong,'
Redeemed suffer, Satan sated,
Tribulation, we pray, before too long.
When time is right, dear God, you'll act,
Your Will be done, unto your Glory,
Millennium Thousand, Final Fact,
And that's the END OF STORY.