"Captain of the Sons," a Poem

Word in a weary
season
I'm a stranger on the
earth
He stoops low to see
me
So high He makes my
worth

Angels minister
here
For partakers in the
light
The world is in
subjection
Marvel at His
might

Jesus, crowned with glory
Captain of the sons
Firstborn of the brothers
Pure through suffering

For the earth's
sojourners
He keeps the desolate
lands
Granted apostleship
His descendants are like
sand

Give your back to those who
harm
Like flint, set your
face
Our youths on the
horizon
You will not be ashamed

Jesus, crowned with glory
Captain of the sons
Firstborn of the brothers
Pure through suffering

I'm not yet done
confessing
And you've already
restored
I do not know the
way
To your highway for the
LORD

Righteousness as
waves
Descendants as
sand
Wax your Spirit
here
Your kingdom at
hand

Jesus, crowned with glory
Captain of the sons
Firstborn of the brothers
Pure through suffering


Isaiah 48:11, 18-19; 49:22-23; 50:6-7 
Hebrews 2:5, 2:16, 5:8
Colossians 1:12