Stained Glass Roses
Stained glass roses grace the light
Flowing to my wearied sight—
Wearied by the cruel, mundane
Ubiquity of things profane.
Holding hope out like a shoot
Pressing up from muddy root—
Oh, this light that calls forth life
In the very heart of strife.
Strife in me, for rest eludes
The sanctuary sin intrudes,
But bud and thorn in glass aglow
Tell of where God’s mercies flow.
Pulsing with the Savior’s heart,
Rose-red wounds, trusted, impart
Peace with God, as does the thorn
For my freedom humbly borne.