America! Your city streets lie desolate
Under the cold spring sky.
No longer do the thousands of pedestrians
And bikes and cars go by.
The pestilence, the scourge that strikes us at midday,
Has hushed our busy land.
Some see in this the end of all the human race,
Some see God's mighty hand.
What do I see? The world does not know suffering
The way its maker did.
God has something in store for us, although just yet
His plan from us is hid.
He wishes us to share the glory of His Cross,
And so He reaches down
To us, the world He made and loved and saved; to us
He gives His thorny Crown.
T. G. 4/6/20
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