By Yasen Vedrin
(The Copper Bowl)
The world is submerged under waves rising high,
Devouring the night and the days passing by.
The souls are all drowning in silt and in mud,
Dragged down by a plague and a sorrowful flood.
But there, in the darkened and wild river's track,
A Holy Hand reaches to carry us back.
It seeks no reward, takes no bribe from the land,
But offers the peace that the Covenant planned.
It touches, delivers, and cleanses, and heals,
Performing great wonders that Heaven reveals.
And he who perceives it, within its pure palm,
Lays all of his faith, and his dreams, and his calm.
The heart of the poor man is beating down here,
Wounded by hands that bring sorrow and fear.
Corrupted and greedy, with fists made of rage,
So far from the Example taught on each page.
But all that he needs is that one single Hand,
Which lifts up the mountains across the wide land…
The Hand that sustains his own spirit with might,
And always weighs Holy in God’s sacred sight.
Bestowing Eternity, filling with grace,
Chasing all nightmares and grief from this place.
And let it forever and ever be so –
His heart in this wonderful Hand down below.
The world is submerged under waves rising high,
And cruelties pile up their guilt to the sky.
But he who has placed his own soul in that Hand,
Remains dry and safe through the floods of the land.
Forever to praise the Great Groom from above…
Have you understood, brother?
Hold His Hand with love!
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