Maritime Museum (Photo credit: Andwar)

Run, oh world, run!  Chase after all that perishes.  Strive to repair what is falling apart with the strength of your own hand.  The dust still parts from solid columns once standing strong.   Look at your palm as you lovingly caress them as you pass.   Grey dust glitters in the evening light.

To the mind of flesh it is a simple matter of attention.  “It was taken for granted, this beautiful place we have built.  All we need do is change who leads us in this place where we have intended to live.”

Your children will speak the same thing in two generations.  What is gained if failure creeps along like a shadow from the works of man?  What has the flesh of man accomplished?  Is this eternal behavior?  Aren’t we thankful that God does not approach purity as do we?  What is needed is not a repair; as if our tiny raft has sprung a leak.

The ages past and those to come will be tested with the same calamity.  No strength of man will save him from death.  Run, oh world run!  Run from the works of your hand to a dark secluded place where your knees become feet.

The brightness of the Living God is your hope.  That brilliant purity in Jesus is the only hope we are extended.  Let the dust appear.  Give it no heed as you seek what lasts forever.  Forsake the works of your hands.  Let all things man return to dust!