Those stone-cold idols break our hearts:
Heartbreak by human hands.
We create gods to play our parts;
We think our work is grand.
We always lust for something new,
Disparaging the old;
Our handiwork we self imbue,
And have our birthright sold.
We think new virtues can be born
Of idols we create,
But search for new-born is forlorn;
We can’t escape our fate.
For virtues are a part of souls,
Are common to us all,
But Fall has made those virtues cold–
Ignore their heated call.
But hearts of idols we here make
Are cold just like our own;
We turn from them with hearts that ache
For virtues in them sown.
Then from the corner of our eye
We see a thorn-crowned brow;
Our hearts are captured by His cry:
“Forgive them, Father, now!
“With Mary we fall on our knees,
Prostrate at Jesus’ Cross,
For now on earth we heaven see;
Our hearts to Him are lost.
Those idols of our hands, they seem
Such little, petty things;
We wake from stone-cold idols dream,
Our hearts with Jesus sing.
His virtues in us all are formed,
Called forth by His so pure;
His glory broadcast all around–
Our stone-cold hearts are cured.
PROCLAIMING TRUTH! 