The Red Candle

In every Church a candle red
marks the presence of it's living head.
It's flickering beam
and shining light,
stand eternal guard o'er transformed bread.

It whispers as you pass the the door
"Here dwells your Lord, come and adore"
It does not boast,
nor blaze with light,
yet this quiet flame says so much more.

These beacons faithful roles fulfill,
reminding that the Lord's there still.
Our sovereign King,
our friend and guide,
the mover of our heart and will.

This constant guard does never tire,
yet slowly dwindling does expire.
It surely sinks,
yet still fulfills,
it's purpose till it does retire.

As I ponder this flame's constancy,
such a faithful herald I long to be.
A weakling man,
I often fail,
on quests of truth and charity.

My light unlike the faithful guard,
trembles when my times are hard.
my fragile faith,
is quickly shattered,
like glass into a thousand shards.

I long with such ardent desire,
to burn unflinching like that fire.
What is my quest?
How shall I serve
the King who reigns in Heaven higher?

And when I reach at last the golden throne,
and stand before my God alone,
will my own life,
like candle red,
my Lord and God have faithfully shown?

Yet midst this life's uncertainty,
still full of hope I'll ever be.
My soul's flame
is Spirit lit,
the Spirit who conquers adversity.

The Spirit of God shall my faith ensure,
to burn like fire, strong and pure.
I'll do my task,
size matters not.
Like candle red, I shall be sure.