A poem I wrote in the mid-1960s. Then, about 170, I was given the chorus, and the tune: Gods Not Dead By Allan Thomasson, about 1965. Died He, Who, by His hands hath made the world? And is He gone forever, as some say? Who heard sad hymns, as heavens scrolls unfurled? Or saw His shape, as they laid Him away? He made the bird, the babe, the bush, the tree; And into each, He placed the living spark. He promised we may live eternally; And now, doth His eyes behold the dismal dark? Chorus: Gods not dead! I dont care what theyve said: It doesnt matter what weve read; Gods not dead! Three hundred fifty trillion miles, they say, Can man through space, with magic glasses gaze: And He, Who wonders yet performs today, Has He begun to pass through Jordans haze? Theres not a man that walks upright, nor two, Who, with much-speaking can my heart persuade That He Who has delivered, and brought me through Is gone, and just a memory to fade. Chrous:
Posted on: Sun, 04 May 2014 01:10:24 +0000