cry out together O you people.
How dark are the days before us
full of fear and wrath.
When the Lord has turned from us
where shall we go?
Abandon at hand the work of your life.
Leave it by the wayside,
knocking it aside with the foot
as you flee from the coming dawn.
How desolate we are
my people in their homeland
running as gazelles with the hounds
at our heels and hungry
like goats from the wolf.
The children cry out and the mothers reach
to silence them
using the weight of their soft bodies
to muffle their own heartbreak
and in the midst a voice is crying,
"My son, my son.
My only son!
He is lost in the darkness
and cannot be found.
Oh my heart, my son.
My son, my sorrow."
The darkness deepened.
The women silenced their weeping
in the face of this grief
and then in a gentle crescendo
joined with the broken heart
swelling together their sorrow,
"How broken we are in this place,
so lost and far from home
with death in the shadows
and sorrow in our hearts.
How broken and who shall understand
the depth of our suffering?"
The single voice rose again,
"My son, my well beloved son,
The darkness has taken him
but look!
He rises again with peace in his hand
and light upon his brow.
Come my people gather to him
he will take you up in his hand
placing you in the place of joy.
Look the dawn is rising
the night is no more."
May the light of His Presence burn like the sun.
(For Burma)
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