Today’s poem pulls heavy inspiration from Ezekiel 36 and, primarily, 37. I have often thought that the Christian praise chorus “Breathe” and the biblical account of the Valley of Dry Bones could walk hand in hand.
Poetry: I Am the Slain
‘Tis long since living feet have trod
This eons forgotten valley.
Only the dead cast shadows here.
Only bones decay and crumble
Attesting iniquity’s grim price.
No ears to hear, no voice to cry out.
Who are they? They are the slain.
.
Today at this wasted gully’s head
There tarry two esteemed guests.
Oh! These remains are very dry.
One asks the other, “Can they yet live?”
Doubtful, mournful is the witness
Who answers, “God alone must know.”
Who can raise them? These many slain.
.
Prophesy! Speak the promise.
Proclaim to them a heart of flesh.
The Word that walks among them,
For He will be their daily bread
To sustain the sinew, tendons, muscles
Which now cloak this rattling multitude.
What Word calls you to life, oh slain?
.
Yet their new-formed ears hear not.
Their tongues lie still in death.
Prophesy! Declare to them the Breath!
Four winds blow, fill their empty lungs.
Desperate are they without the Spirit
That awakens, that regenerates.
Who are they, the living slain?
.
Before the pair an exceeding great army
In consecrated ranks now waits.
Oh house of Israel, Abraham’s stars,
Out of the grave He beckons
Causes His Spirit to resurrect
These empty husks, these hopeless bones.
Where go you now, them that were slain?
.
In thankfulness, give glory
To the mighty risen Word
That removed from us, our sin,
And worship the gallant Helper
That animates stricken vessels
To pour out burgeoning holiness.
Worship Him ever! I am the slain!
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