poem

Sounding by Byron Gene Mace
Many say they don't see
the works and wonders
of our Heavenly Father
What do they see?
What speaks from their heart cries
when silence is pounding--
when the brain is screaming
Our Father speaks quiet but loudly
some scream loud and crowd His sighing--
drawing His child to come home

In the silence,

"I will sing song of my well-beloved
My well-beloved had a vineyard..." Isaiah

Nicely said. Too present for many to see, too loud for many to hear. Only by His mercy they can open their eyes, only by His grace they can quiet down the noice around them.