They Say

They say my time's a time of change,
A new beginning, a fresh start.
Why, then, does it seem our range
Of change does not reach to the heart?

They say that all my people will sing
Of the god of Jacob, god of Zion.
Why, then, will so few bring
A word of comfort, a shoulder to cry on?

They say that we have all the power
To right the wrongs of time before.
Why, then, does this force all sour
Behind the comfort of closed door?

They say our feet will take us places
To relieve the world's great groans of pain.
Why, then, at home among the races
Are there still groups so cut in twain?

They say our hands will touch the lost
Who struggle in the dark of night.
Why, then, do these tempest-tossed
Still grasp, helpless, for the light?

We are not changed by what they say
Or by what their hopes and dreams spell--
No, it is our work, our destiny, our way
To save this cruel world from cruel Hell.