PLUCKED FROM THE BURNING


The grandfather clock chimed dutifully, yet in slow motion,
'Twas some minutes before midnight.
The Wesley home, asleep, felt no commotion,
Nevertheless, trouble was in sight.

The corn room caught it, ashes and smoke,
Its move was swift, furious too.
The fire raged, tore off her room's cloak.
"Fire! Fire!", yet, it spread, it grew.

Samuel, Susanna, the seven kids, too,
Were caught off guard, and hurried in fear.
The Wesleys ran the stairs without much ado,
Burns and all, yet more sorrow to bear.

Asleep, still asleep, was five year old John.
Susanna realised as they touched the floor.
This was trouble, yet they would not mourn,
For they had God - The Shield and The Door.

The brightness of the fire tore through the curtains;
Little John awoke: "Yea, it's Morning!"
He lay on the bed, afraid of nothing,
But this heat - this heat is so alarming!

Through the windows, he peeped, and saw the fire,
He screamed in fear, terror written o'er his face.
But through it all, a man moved by desire,
Risked his life, to bring John into Shelter's Place.

...looks like someone's a hero,

But, there's One greater than a HERO.
His love is the strongest, boundless, still,
He died to end your nights of woe,
To pluck you from Hell and Eternal Doom's Seal.

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