A great picture puzzle, God's own design,
Fills all the heavens from near to afar;
Wherein all the elect can only align
As it touches the moon and surpasses the stars.
From where comes His election?
From out of His hand;
Each placed by the angels
Upon His command.
Can one count their number?
And where will I fit?
In a large space of honor
Or a wee, little slit?
It's never the space;
I must render Him all.
Then my space will not matter;
I'll forever stand tall.
- J. Pecoraro
