The Mockers Stand On Every Hill Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

the mockers stand on every hill
and let their silver arrows fly
and everything they say and do

begins with language made of lies
in this the Kingdom You conceived
and fashioned from the pearl bright light

but we live here suspended in
their neighborhoods of murky night.
the mockers stand on every hill

and let their silver arrows fly
and every mote of our good will
is bent and strung for cruel delight.

and yet from farther hills we hear
the trumpets of our victory near
and Love's own arrows burnished still

upon the higher, brighter hills
will someday take these battlefields
and claim the regions of our weal

when all the wounding that we feel
will shine like gold
where Christ has healed.

mary angela douglas 6 february 2016