The Hope That Ends the Human Drought
by: Michael Kelly Blanchard
The hearts of some speak from their hands,
Those calloused cups that caring make...
That, tucked in pocket-wombs of pants,
Wait for ways to fix the break, hold for days the hurt and ache,
Join to pray for the lost soul's sake.
The hearts of some speak from their eyes, to see the good where bad has been.
Beacons from a paradise, that weep for winners who never win,
Love the sinner not the sin, spot the inner light within.
The Master's mercy falls like rain,
On this desert dressed in doubt.
Needs no logic to explain,
The hope that ends the human drought.
The hearts of some speak from their lips, with words that know the brokenness.
And sail the soul like summer ships, to stop in ports of tenderness,
And weave comfort with a Holy stitch, that binds all sorts of emptiness.
The hearts of some speak from their homes, magnets in this scrap-iron life.
A splint to stranger's broken bones, a temple with a front-porch light.
A balm of blessing from the fight. A door of day in the weary night.
And where do all these hearts come from, these timeless testimonials?
Where's the reason for what they've done, the rationale to sound this call?
Why such passion in us all? Why compassion when we fall?
The heart of God speaks from the One, Who climbed the hill of skulls to die.
For all the foolishness I've done, and then with one last lonely cry,
Professed that love was not a lie. Confessed love as the reason why.
Love this song....