[Oracle] I taught him to walk with his hand in mine, I lifted the yoke and bent down with bread. The prophets kept calling; the child ran away, [People] The sword at the gate was the harvest of counsel, A heart bent backward could not call exile peace. [Oracle] And bowed to the shapes his own fingers had made. Then over the sentence compassion was stirred: How shall I give thee up? How shall love cease? Not Admah again, not Zeboim’s end, [People] The sword at the gate was the harvest of counsel, A heart bent backward could not call exile peace. The Holy One stands in the midst of the land. [Bridge] A lion will call and the children will come, Trembling like birds toward the doors of their homes. Love does not rename rebellion as right, [Coda] But mercy remembers the child through the night. The sword at the gate was the harvest of counsel, A heart bent backward could not call exile peace.