I had an arrow placed in my quiver
More beautiful than the rest,
Stronger, ready to soar
Made to stop the heartbeat in the Enemy’s chest.
Oh how complete I felt
With this arrow for my bow,
But arrows are not trophies,
Arrows are to be sent, to take down the vile foe.
You were the most precious arrow
One that could destroy the Enemy’s blows,
You were handcrafted by our Maker
In the LORD’s name you were to go.
When my fingers laced around you,
I knew I had to release,
I knew I wouldn’t see your journey,
But, Oh the deep relief,
Knowing that in the end
Your flight to the heart of darkness
Would mean our Victor’s valiant defeat.
So fly, soar, rise above the clouds, dear one,
And know you were made for war,
Precious arrow… (breath, release), go.
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