Ah yes, through fields of stars
past galaxies that hang like clusters
deep in space,
yes, one day sailing over an ebony pond,
and falling into out-stretched arms of grace.
One day, folding wings after so long a journey home,
and at last alighting gently as did Noah’s dove with branch in beak,
His workmanship, His poem, resting on God’s eternal peak.
One day, the end of night and start of one forever dawn,
sin no longer near nor fear,
but only Him, His will, His word, and where we think is end, is really where we just begin.