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The Smoke of Heaven
Who can hear the distant rumble,
Or hearing, yet cannot perceive;
How few look up, how many stumble,
Felled by hearts that won't believe.
How many smell the smoke of heaven
Thinking that it's come from hell;
How many taste the devil's leaven
Thinking all on earth is well.
"The world has never been forsaken,"
Come words of scoffers--words of glass;
How greatly, how deeply are they mistaken
Who measure the future by the past.
© 1999 Mark A. Warmerdam
All rights reserved