Bathsheba’s Tears

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(A ballad learned from David)

Detached, aloof, the king holds court,
wisdom fills his years,
then all at once a glance – betrayed!
The sum of all his fears.

A man, a wretch, a fool undone,
beauty grinds its gears,
a once proud heart now reduced,
drowning in Bathsheba’s tears.

The noble warrior cries within,
self-righteousness in wonder,
torn, and scorned, and cast aside,
all pretense ripped asunder.

Duty calls, vows to maintain,
the slayer of giants is slain,
the mighty cedar is bowed, then broken,
it’s heart recoils in pain.

A man, a wretch, a fool undone,
beauty grinds its gears,
a once proud heart now reduced,
drowning in Bathsheba’s tears.

The moment, brief, must be denied,
feet leaden in clay, tread on,
the king, his calling beckoning,
must do what must be done.

This tragedy plays in us all,
to reveal the One that is true,
for love Divine must capture all,
and stony hearts pierce through.

A man, a wretch, a fool undone,
beauty grinds its gears,
a once proud heart now reduced,
drowning in Bathsheba’s tears.

These secret crosses scar the years,
wounds for all to see,
seared by a Love too great to contain,
that awaits so patiently.

The Seed must fall into the ground,
and dying find it’s grave,
losing itself, alone, forsaken,
in faith it shall yet save.

A man, a wretch, a fool undone,
beauty grinds its gears,
a once proud heart now reduced,
drowned in Bathsheba’s tears.

The burden lifts, the king gives thanks
for the promise of a fullness to be,
and smiles through the veil, for what now is forbidden
shall blossom in eternity.

Without death there is no resurrection,
without beauty what could we release?
Love that is selfless and seeks not its own,
finds itself . . . at peace.

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