In the Old Stories of Your People’s roots
all the Glory is Yours, Loving Parent.
You uprooted ruthless idolaters,
cleansed the land, planted families in good soil;
Your Mother Love, not swords, secured their homes.
Wise, Kind Ruler of all: we worship You;
trusting Your Peace Power we pay tribute.
But we sense You have turned away from us,
left us on our own to face scorn and theft;
we are exploited, exiled and enslaved,
treated like the scum, not Salt of the Earth;
renegade movers-and-shakers mock us.
Yet we never forget You and Your Laws;
we bow to You, pleading for Your followers
who are suffering and dying every day.
God, for real You never slumber or sleep?
Are You dozing? Don’t You care anymore?
Please come to the aid of our war-torn world:
come soon, Messiah; we trust in Your Love.
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