Valley Of Achor - Poem by Papa Crutch
The decree was plain, by all was known;
Sacred, to Him, hollowed by God alone.
Valley of Trouble, flames to the sky;
Valley of Achor, stones piled high.
Gold and silver lust brought my discord;
Desired wealth, put sin before the Lord.
Eventide hearts, reflect the soul trespass;
Dust up to heaven, eyes stream in mass.
Day's first light, called tribe by tribe;
'Cast the lots'; Chosen, no time to hide.
Words spill out, confession I make;
Glory to Holiness, recompense, to take.
With sorrow, a song, foretelling a haven;
Peace, at last, and comfort to be given.
In place of shame, appears the eternal Son,
The door of hope; sinfulness is done.
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