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Modern Sabbath by Janet Martin © 2009 No bells peeling from the steeple, No churches over-flow with people, But shopping malls and parking lots Do not have a vacant spot, As people rush to get inside To worship gods of wicked pride, And never stop to think at all Of One who saved us from the fall, Or of a cross up on a hill Where perfect blood for us did spill, So that there would be a way For man to live on Judgment Day, Oh no, they never stop to think That this will end quick as a wink, And all the fool's gold that they trust Will be transformed to heaps of rust, But still they crave for one more taste Of all the filth of this world's waste, And still His door is open wide Beckoning all to come inside |
This poem may be use within Christian ministries for any non-profit purpose without requesting permission.