The promised land was guarded
By water cannons and dogs of war.
The dreaming people linked arms
And crossed the bridge. Every army
Has carried the rightness of their cause,
But where, throughout history’s endless mausoleums,
Do we find this rightness
Borne as an army’s sole might and force?
We saw on that Sunday
God creating a new thing on the streets of Jericho,
An army that marched with Jesus and not behind him,
An army that assumed the peace that is upon the Prophet.
The hostile world was all but defenceless.
It killed. It maimed. It tore and cut. It lost. We won.

Let not our desire to stand in the light of history
Trespass upon the truth: the bridge is still guarded.
Some nights we keep watch on the walls of Jericho,
Tapping our feet to far-off music
On solid rock. The ownership of dreams
Destroys what it means to defend.
May our call to prayer be loud and brash enough
To melt these hearts of iron,
For every rail Tubman carried is available to us.
We, the people, hear a new song,
Stirring the souls of women, jolting the souls of men:
Onward. Past the walls. Over the bridges.
Into the heavenly city, where we have been waiting
For us to arrive, with open arms.