For Those We Still Remember
a hymn

All those seeking faces that come to me on the cusp of sleep
Are they secure in the Lord’s good graces?
When all I see is anxiety and uncertainty.

His noble Mercy is as such unequalled, without measure,
The only worthwhile treasure
To amass while yet on this mortal coil.

The soil upon which we scurry forth
Holds aeons of elders who went before
The Saints who led the Way
The mystics in the fray,
We children of the Perilous Garden.