High-Wire Walk

The tight-rope of salvation Is a straining, wire-taut strand You inch along on foot-chafed trepidation Defying Satan’s law of gravitation, God’s balance-pole inside your hand. Below, the audience is cheering, Your equipoise of faith precludes all fearing— Your toes assert their knowing, nimble grasp. The platform, once so far, now’s nearing. Step upon it! Crowd gives out a gasp— Satan curses with a hoarse and rueful rasp.