I count the hours, count the days
I stand in fervent plea
But alas, the census is counted
I will remove the Watchman
I will close the tower
I will remain silent except to those of My lineage
I will abide with those who abide in Me
The fields will burn even as the snow falls
The land will look, feel desolate
You will wonder if there is a God
and surely if there is,
why does He not answer your pleas?
I looked for the Righteous
I begged the religious to come
I longed for your face to turn toward Mine
but you sought your own counsel
you gained your private wealth
you built palaces with My Name, in My Name, for My Name
but I was not allowed entrance
You came and went, United States
I held you once to My Bosom
but you looked for other satisfaction
Yes, you would make your name great
You would be independent
You would teach your children yourselves
You would form your own religion
You would be cut off from Me
I came and went across your land
I looked for those who would follow Me
who would bear the Cross of reproach
for speaking Truth
I looked
I tried
I longed to shelter you from the storm,
from the wind, from the evil
but you believed yourselves sufficient
The fields will burn, My friends . . .
They will burn until you know that you, alone,
cannot save this land
They will burn and they will burn
until you see yourselves as I do
and realize the error of your separation from Me
They will burn and as they burn
I will wait for your return
Come, if you will come repentant
Come, if you will come sorrowful for your mistakes
Come, if you desire a new heart and a right spirit
Come and we will speak of a new land and the harvest
which I have planned
Come and we will talk much . . .
LORD OF THE HARVEST