GOD IS STILL ON HIS THRONE

When our painted hills of purple don a robe of sullen grey
And the church-bells in the chapel have no chorus left to play
When the dew upon the roses turns into a shroud of frost
And the grief that life imposes makes us ponder love’s great cost
GOD IS STILL ON HIS THRONE

When the laughter and the sunshine in the spring-time of our life
Rewards us with an autumn ‘neath a cold and cruel knife
The colors of our rainbow fade to lurid shades of grey
Our respite is a shadow and a cherished memory
GOD IS STILL ON HIS THRONE

When the flicker of a candle is the symbol of our hope
And we cannot reach the handle of the door for which we grope
As the darkness seeps around us and life’s echo is our cry
It seems demons surround us in an evil lullaby
GOD IS STILL ON HIS THRONE

When the enemy reminds us that we’re weak and can’t defend
Someone greater stands behind us offering grace which has no end
For His strength shines in perfection when we can no longer stand
As we call in desperation for love’s kind unfailing Hand
GOD IS STILL ON HIS THRONE

All Rights Reserved
Janet Martin

He said, My grace is sufficient for you,
My power is made perfect in weakness....2 Cor. 12:9