He stands firm till the end
Very strong, but not his strength, his Lord’s
When victory is seated on the throne,
Triumph strides through the streets of Jerusalem,
He stands and waits with all the others, as a true disciple
Bows low to the ground as the Holy One passes,
Eyes not worthy to behold the Majesty,
Lord of his mercy
Healer of all lepers
Lord of his life.
The battles fought were difficult
The dark lord more crafty, more vicious
His ruthless, fierce army more tenacious
Relentless treachery until the final crushing beneath the heel,
Foot of the Sovereign One upon the neck and head.
Battle weary as a worn out rag;
Then, a hand places a cup of water to the dry lips
A few drops that revive
A few sips that strengthen
A final drink that enflames eternal zeal and righteous passion
As he stands once again and charges out one last time
To finish his part of the kingdom work
The King always in sight
His Lord always close at hand.