By Libby Powell


I hear a song
ringing at every corner of the earth,
rung out from every human heart.
A quartet,
a chorus,
full in every part, but
rich with every swell, and yet it wanders,
imperfect in its beauty—
flawed even in the depths of each new chord.


The quiet basses murmur,
their vibrant tremors ever searching,
probing every region,
seeking sanctuary from a restless tune
that struggles on without a
Their voices soothe with ointment
over doubts and cares and worries—
yet they wander.


Tenors lift their song,
a melody that’s waning.
Their tearless souls are anxious,
and the music that they weave is
Despairing moans blend with a
soothing struggle.


The altos of our chorus
sing a melancholy waltz—
a laughing line of music,
bitter in its taste of caustic glee.
A dancing ditty plays upon their lips,
lightening the simple, careworn melody,
creating dissonance.


A quartet cannot be without a fourth to add its sound.
And so it is.
Do you hear that wail?
That cry of anguish?
That misery?
It is the crown of the song,
the solo,
the descant that descries agony.
Sorrowful sopranos weep
their solitary song;
it continues on, traveling to a
hopeless end.
They wander not, nor do they avoid
their sad conclusion.
On they sing;
they truly understand.
They sing and they despair.


A droning bass preludes the
sweep of tenor’s hum that tries to synchronize with
alto’s sneer at life’s ordeals over which
sopranos weep.
No harmony or melody,
only conflict in this song of the world.


But hark! Listen to the orchestral suite of the universe!
I hear a song,
sung from the depths of life,
ringing with a melody so deep, so sweet,
so overwhelming!


Vast prairies sway in the wind—
a haven for the weary, for the brokenhearted.
Unending oceans proclaim in their silence
endless mercy poured out on the world,
traveling so far that we cannot grasp its size,
nor realize its depth.
The starry sheets that lie over the earth
cry out a mystery, so far from the friction of the world.
Each winking globe of light tells me
our song has not ended—He is alive.
And while He is alive, hope remains.


Libby is a follower of Jesus who is a book lover and a learning writer. Her passion is music and reaching the nations, including her own, with the gospel of Christ. She is a lover of tea who enjoys giving hugs and tries to help people when they are hurt. Her one goal is that God is glorified in every area of her life. She can’t wait till the day He returns to establish His kingdom, and she eagerly does her best to live for Him.

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