Stand Firm

Stand firm, my brothers. Oh, will you move?
And yield before the world’s multitude?

For we’re a remnant, small and few,
Rejected like our Master, too.

Dare we close our eyes to the battle?
Lest we go to slaughter, led like cattle?

A sentry who yields is not polite,
He is brother to one who for the enemy fights.

Stand firm, my brothers. We do not rebel.
That is for those who journey toward hell.

We would return to that which is right.
Ever the same, known by faith, not by sight.

Sin is so sly, a choice you don’t get,
On which destination, only direction you set.

“Serve the Devil”, a question that rarely is seen,
Instead pressure to shift faith from God to a king.

Stand firm, my brothers. The price grows day by day.
If your faith does not cost you, have you chosen the narrow way?

Our ancestors wouldn’t have suffered at all,
If they had always agreed to follow man’s law.

If they had just gotten a license to preach,
Or gone to the state-approved church down the street.

It would have seemed wise to compromise,
And keep their respect in the public’s eye.

But compromise steals your influence from,
The direction of your descendants to come.

-Noah Sanders