As She Holds Her Lamp to Be Lit

Perhaps madness is a defense mechanism
When you are afraid that the truth
Is more terrible than the life you're living,
Where the wind blows away the dust particles
Of guile and doubt, and the rains fall
And paste these trials to the ground, underfoot.

Perhaps peace is the essence of survival
That calls you to sleep every night,
All those hours when you are watched and protected
And light shines on you and from you,
When you hear the cry at midnight and leap up
And do not turn to the right or to the left.

Perhaps then, when your crooked soul
Is made straight with the loving light of truth,
With the solid, strong and uncovered blessings of rain
Dripping greater particles of glory and grace,
You raise your eyes and turn your face to see
The snow-white clothes and smiling embrace of a Savior.