Redeemer

It descends as if a shroud On a black winter's eve. I failed to sense it earlier For it wasn't time to leave. But now the years imply The closing of the light. Not just a day's demise But never-ending light. "`Tis a universal thing," I say, bracing to be brave. But then I think again on The specter of the grave. My faith affirms the fact My Redeemer is alive. But faith is not nailed fast, And doubts oft survive. Yet cast in this mortal shell To whom else is one to look? The answer is millennia old Scribed in God's own book. Some say scripture is passe, "Can't believe it any more." But when it's time to leave, They clasp faith at the door.