Egypt, O Egypt, we weep with you, Your Palm Sunday tears are shed not alone. Labour-filled lamentation reverberates o’er seas; Your worship replaced by wailing, liturgy by a moan.
Egypt, O Egypt, you weep not alone; Christ Himself’s heart is rent in twain. That first Palm Sunday, he cried for the “City of Peace”; Today He weeps for yours once again.
“But” some ask “Where was your Jesus, When a murderous madman entered his house? Why did he not the hand of evil stay; Or the flames of detestation douse?”
Our sovereign God’s ways are not ours to explain, Nor His yeas or nays to defend. More questions than what we have answers for; Many mysteries unable to comprehend.
But Friends, as you shed your Palm Sunday tears; Collecting fragments of many a shattered dream. May you hold onto hope, tho faint it may be, Onto faith, tho shaken it may seem.
“Where was your Jesus, your Saviour, your Friend?” Well, he was there in the midst of your storm. His presence, His peace, His assurance and aid, Their work of comfort to perform.
Egypt, O Egypt, you are not alone, Our prayers with and for you, remain. Your tears are our tears; your heartache ours, We share in your perplexity: your pain.
Egypt, O Egypt, if we could your grief take away, You from this horror and hurt fully release. But we, Christian family stand united with you; May this assurance somewhat appease.
(C) 2017-Wayne George
