THE SNARE IS BROKEN

Swift-flying bird winging your way aloft,What drew you down to dark entanglement?Was it that fern was cool and moss was soft,That flight had wearied you, and strength was spent?In this enticing low retreat, a snareWas cunningly devised to catch and hold,To still your song, your upward mount impair,Luring your brilliant wing to death and mold.We too, formed in the image of our God,From our high purpose oftentimes are ledTo lower pathways, seeking lanes untrodUntil the voice speaks and the light is shed.O bird and man, whose destinies are shaped,"The snare is broken, and we are escaped."

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Editorial
COUNTING THE COST
November 26, 1949
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