Restoration

We rise with light beneath the morning sky,

Brief as the petals falling from the stem;

Yet somewhere in the soul there lives a spark

That knows this world is not the final end.

God breathed into the dust a living flame,

A truth no grave nor darkness overcomes;

And even now His voice still calls the lost,

Still gathering the scattered from the night.

The cross remains—His open arms unchanged—

Yet many choose the shadow over dawn;

But grace still lifts the heart that turns again,

Restoring strength to carry onward.

This life is brief—our numbered days slip by—

Yet something holy lingers past the silence;

And in that light, however faint it seems,

We find a hope more constant than our dreams.

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