The silent language, of broken hearts,
is soaked in tears, right from the start.
Most often heard, by Heavens throne,
from rooms of darkness, before the dawn.
From anguished sorrow, tears river flow,
to quell each fear, and loose their hold.
The moistened speech, of early morn,
cries for relief, from earths sorrows born.
In Heavens realm, each tear is coddled,
then carefully placed, in crystal bottles.
God has purposed, each tear a treasure,
meant for his keeping, and for his pleasure.
Now in the silence, of days earliest morn,
should tearful waters, chance their flow.
Each tear the contrite heart must speak,
our God above, wipes from each cheek.
No tears are lost, nor goes unnoticed,
and must be used, just as He purposed.
He's chanced the laborious tears of sorrow,
to mend our wounds for Heavens morrow!
Written by: Barbara A. Carlan 10/9/2009
"He's harvest each, for vessels treasured, suplussing flows, for Heavens rivers"