Nostalgia salts the wound, keeping it fresh;
Misery’s best-by date
By far puts even a Twinkie to rest
Where is a path out of this murky gloom?
Am I stuck with just the prospect of doom?
Hermon in its heights is a little hill
Next to ev’ry Promise;
I’ll fight fire with fire, see victory still,
Trade gloom for the brightness
Of gratitude for Your salvation shown,
And rest in the deeper memories owned.