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Oh Lord, stay these ghastly-vicious winds
which run raging from the frozen North in fierce packs,
surrounding my home,
clawing at my door,
pushing on my window glass,
prying in to drain my blood of warmth;
whose wraith-like howls
seethe and scream though
our already storm-torn trees;
whose teeth snap and bite at my face’s flesh,
and threaten to rend my very soul
if I but crack open my door.
Drive away the marauding horde,
Oh Lord, send them fleeing with a mighty shout,
away from my habitation and back to their own.
Or whisper them calm like You did before.
Amen
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Alone in the Rockies.
Gloryteller 