Ichabod, Oh Ichabod
Ichabod, oh Ichabod,
A name that speaks of loss and woe,
A mother's cry, a nation's fall,
As the ark of God was stolen, and with it all.
The glory of God, once bright and true,
Was now departed, gone from view,
The nation of Israel left in gloom,
Their house desolate, their future doomed.
But Ichabod is not just a name,
It's a warning for us, all the same,
For in our churches, we may find,
The same pattern, the same decline.
We start with grace, with truth and light,
But slowly, surely, we lose sight,
We turn to man, to law, to will,
And slowly, surely, we lose still.
The glory of God, we take for granted,
And in our hearts, our idols planted,
We worship leaders, gifts, and fame,
And forget the One from whom they came.
But let us not be like Israel of old,
Let us not be like churches that fold,
Let us remember Ichabod's cry,
And keep the glory of God nigh.
Let us turn from idols, turn from sin,
And fix our eyes on Christ again,
Let us love each other, serve with grace,
And keep the glory of God in its rightful place.
For Ichabod need not be our fate,
We can pray to God to make our churches great,
By keeping the glory of God bright,
And shining forth with all His might.
Topics: Brandan's Poetry
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