Covenant People Vs Pagan Seasons.
205 Words
Behold, the idols in the cities rise.
They wear new faces, but tell the same lies.
They teach that man is god, that truth is bent,
That all is holy if the crowd consents.
Festivals of smoke and spirit fill the air,
the young are drawn — they do not see the snare.
And my people stand apart, watching in ache,
for to join would mean their covenant break.
They are scorned as narrow, mocked as cold,
for holding to a faith not bought nor sold.
They are told: “You must bow, or you can not belong.”
But my children whisper: “The Lord is our song.”
6. The Hidden Remnant
Even in Pretoria’s glass towers and Cape Town’s seas,
There dwell souls who refuse to bend their knees.
They walk unseen, but their faith is flame —
a secret strength, a holy name.
In the night, they gather — few, but pure.
Their worship is quiet, their courage sure.
No banners, no noise, no worldly gain,
only the old refrain: “Jesus reigns.”
And I, their God, move among them like dew,
renewing the hearts of the faithful few.
For I have never needed the many — only the true.
- Writer
