By Robert E. Hanna
The finery of regal lords—
The silken robes and jeweled swords,
The crowns of gold and sparkling gems;
From these their passing glory stems.
Underlings that trod their courts,
Wealth-laden ships that crowd their ports,
Rich fields of oil and golden grain;
From these come rank and power to reign.
Gourmet’s delights, exotic drink,
A ‘hideaway’ to rest and think,
Consorting with a favorite pawn;
From these their zest for life is drawn.
But what an empty web they spin
To capture life and freedom in;
When their synthetic Eden flies,
They’ll look for pity from the skies.
By then it may be much too late
To change their desolated fate
Through saving faith which they denied,
And by God’s grace which they’ve defied.
O the sorrow that shall befall
Those who ignore the Savior’s call
To share the glory of His grace;
For such, there is no hiding place!
