[Soprano nel registro grave, solo inizia come recitativo]
O Lord, why standest Thou afar?
 The wicked strut through gilded gates,
 They tax the sweat, they bind the jar,
  And turn our grain to golden plates.

 They decree injustice with the pen,
 They crush the child, forget the men.
 Widows weep, and orphans cry—
  "How long, O Lord? Must we still die?"

[Baritone solo]
    I came with sandals worn and thin,
    No parchment seal, no clan within.
    A whisper marked me as unclean—
    Yet am I not made by the King?

[Chorus of Israel]
    Remember Egypt’s bitter rod:
    You too were strangers, cries to God.
    You too were chained, your sons were sold,
    Until His arm made Pharaoh fold.

[Baritone]
    Babylon sits on scarlet seas,
    Decked in pearls, drunk on decrees.
    She sells the bodies, names them trade,
    And on her throne, the tax is laid.

[ Alto (as Babylon – seductive, mocking):

    I am no widow; I shall not mourn.
    I built this throne from blood and corn.
    Let kings and merchants drink my wine—
    The coin is yours, the soul is mine.

[chorus of Israel, idem]

[Soprano]
    Fallen, fallen is the harlot’s place!
    Smoke shall rise and blot her face.
    Come out, O people, from her sin,
    Lest ye partake of wrath within.

[Baritone, as God]
I  have seen. I will arise.
 I will break their sharpened lies.

    [Baritone]
Behold, He comes to judge the earth,
    With fire, and truth, and fearful worth.
    The books are opened, none escape,
    Each crown is weighed, each cloak and cape.

[Chorus of Angels]
    O nations, tremble! Princes fall!
    The Lamb shall level great and small.
    He shall not judge as men have done—
    The meek shall rise; the proud shall run.

[Treble (Soprano) as God, con voce chiara, quasi senza vibrato]
I have seen. I will arise.
I will break their sharpened lies.

[duet] 
No more tributes, no more chains—
    The city shines, washed of its stains.
    No need for sword, nor need for gate,
    The King has come. The hour is late.

    Sing to the Lord a song anew,
    For justice rolls like morning dew.
    The stranger, poor, the orphaned one—
    Now reign beneath the Risen Son.

Tribute and Justice

Professional software developer. Amateur composer, photographer, chef. (Note I am not the other Geoffrey Falk in Toronto who writes music. That's Geoffrey David Falk, who often goes by just "Geoffrey Falk.")

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