The Restoration

The hills called, “Come back. Come back

And warm us for the night grows chill,”

But the winds blew away from the hills, out over the plain.

The cries grew fainter until only the moanful wail

Of the desert night remained,

A night so dark and alone that the soul cried out,

“God, Oh God, have you forsaken me?”

Hell. Hell, alone with the sobbing wind, shut out,

Alone in the black emptiness.

Can a soul thus survive or must it suffer

A slow and evil death, a death of the very being

Of the immortal soul, or rather than death

An endless whirling and screaming

Caught in the vortex of insanity.

Again the soul cried out to its father

“Where are you? Where are you? I am lost and alone.

My body is dead with fear; my senses have forsaken me.

Oh leave me not as prey to the desert night.

Let not this illusion of terror devour me.”

“Oh my father, stretch forth thy hand.”

And the soul wept in the anguish of being alone.

Then the hand came forth, and a light, and a voice,

“This is my Beloved Son, HEAR HIM.”

The dawn shattered the blackness

And the soul was not alone, for there were many

Covered by the night

And they flocked close and listened together to the voice.

And the man came forth with the wind in his hair

And he touched them and they felt the warmth

And felt a stir in their bodies and warm tears

Fell from their eyes, new tears, sweet and warm.

The joy that was in their hearts came forth

And the vortex was stilled, and wind wailed no more.