The hammer fell, the glass gave way,
A thousand pieces where I lay.
The fracture deep, the damage done,
Beneath a cold and heavy sun.
To look at me is to see the break,
The fragile lines that tremors make.
But underneath the dust and grit,
A stubborn thing refuses to quit.
For I am made of older stone,
Than any grief I’ve ever known.
They struck the blow to make me yield,
But left a weapon on the field.
For flint may chip, and flint may crack,
But it does not bow, and it won’t go back.
The edges sharp, the center bound,
Buried deep within the ground.
And every strike that swore to maim,
Only brings me closer to the flame.
I am shattered, yes, the pieces show,
But I am stronger than they know.
Let the pressure beat and tire,
For even broken, I hold the fire.
“For the Lord GOD will help me; therefore shall I not be confounded: therefore have I set my face like a flint, and I know that I shall not be ashamed” (Isaiah 50:7).
HALLELUJAH.
