The wicked man’s mind runs glad

With evil thoughts and he can’t sleep.

His heart tramps from wrong to wrong

In a dim parade, full of all the wrong fears.

He wonders why he would let this glamour go

Once he got it started. He spins traps

And hangs them in corners. Words tumble

Out of his mouth like black spiders.

He tells himself he’ll stand

Infinity on edge and flick it so it spins.

But there is another wisdom and no one

Has found the end of it. God’s love.

You can’t shake it. It is as solid

As a mountain and doesn’t rattle.

The clouds are not higher

Than the measure of God's love,

Nor the stars, nor the farthest

Flung distant folly of hope.

We can hide in it, feast on it,

Drink it in, dare gale darlings

Fledged under bright wings.

It is free for the taking every morning

As much as hand can hold or heart gather.

It is a light strung between stars in long lines,

Wide and white against the blank dark.

God, keep me in the slow lathe of your love.

Make my soul’s bones hone and spin.

Lift me up but lay low

And unlace every evil plan.