Fallen from the tree And wandering about, Carried light and free By ample winds of doubt... A stickman to the bone With veins of fatal brown, With no green roots to own -- How easy he falls down Come tempest currents from The thriving life around When nature is undone. And now, Stickman, you've found, When all is trite and cold, The storm has left you torn -- No substance do you hold. And, when the sun does scorch, A fire the sky will blaze Upon you frame of kindling To consume you with the day. Cool dawn is fast approaching, As the Gardener stirs about And sees you in your fear And sees you in your doubt. Do you see Him standing near With rescue for your soul? He wants to take you back To where you were made whole, On the tree of life to graft. His hands are those of scars, Yet gentle to care for you. He's seen you fall this far, So now you'll need to choose If life is worth the cost To yield unto His Love, No longer lone and lost. See what you are made of And see what you may be.. From heartwood to strong branch Of the deepest rooted Tree. Will you take the chance? For soon the day will come.. You've no place left to hide, Yet still awaits here One In Whom you may abide...
"'Surely the day is coming; it will burn like a furnace. All
the arrogant and every evildoer will be stubble, and that day that
is coming will set them on fire,' says the Lord Almighty. 'Not a
root or branch will be left on them. But for you who revere my
name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its
wings.'"-Malachi 4:1-2a
