Come and Take Them

In youth, no man dreams of the shackles that wait,

As no lion begs for the chains,

Of losing the wild, the boldness of child,

So, how did our faith grow so tame?

We don’t wrestle with God anymore,

Worried that we might offend Him,

Yet, the fear of God has long left our homes,

And that day, respect for Him ended.

We no longer yell, ‘come and take them’,

When the world grasps for our souls.

No defiance, no fire, to die for what’s right,

We instead, dig our own six-foot holes.

And so, dreams remain dreams without courage,

Shackles stay locked, absent faith.

And the lion inside,

Roaring but tied,

Resides on his deathbed of shame.

And are we now house cats or lions?

Do we wrestle or tap at first sweat?

If not a God-fearing man,

My life in His hands,

I may breathe, but inside, I am dead.

And to carve ‘molon labe’ and sign it,

With each hardship that I endure.

Bow to no mortal,

Joy through the sorrow,

Each prayer I know has been heard.