Drawn by earthly sorrow and grief,
the King is unseen, bearing the visage of a servant.
He won't be felt by a satisfied belly,
or by the tax collector, whose eyes remain dry.
With His Hand, the King gathers lamentation,
where the human plight is painfully ugly,
and Lazarus suffers in silence
beside stray dogs and filthy refuse.
The King reads the words within souls,
and they are deeply fateful and Sacred.
For Mercy will follow the merciful,
who remains faithful and alive in Righteousness.
But Wrath will destroy at the fateful hour
the scoundrels frozen in worldly frost.
For there’s no one in the Kingdom, cursed,
who could turn his heart into a ball of ice.
Be closer, O brother, to the King,
where all the terrifying misfortunes gather.
In bitter fate, in the cold trench,
bestow destinies with the Flame of Christ…
Stefan Glavchev
(Copper Bowl)
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