“For there is hope for a tree,
If it is cut down,
that it will sprout again...Yet at the scent of water it will bud
And bring forth branches like a plant.
(Job 14: 7-9)
The
Voice of Hope, Still as it may echoes louder, reaches even farther than
the roars of despair. It rises from the ashes of deathlike grayness,
dust from decayed flesh to the breaking of a new dawn. There are silver
linings in the dark minds of the weary one. And somewhere in the heart
of the brave, is a glint of hope, embodied with promises of a new era.
The preacher once said this too shall pass, so do not loose sight of the
promise by which hope is strengthened. The voice of hope begins in the
heart of optimistic nationales, they who call here home. It resides in
them. When they rise to speak, only that which is good is uttered. Their
sound, with power to shut out words from defeatists.
Thousands have died where pearls lie deep. There is blood on the land,
that speak in the sad laments of widows and orphans. The salt of the sea
in the eyes of mothers drip like rain over our land. But when the
Spirit blows...
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