When sorrow stirs the heavens high,
And storm clouds gather in the sky,
A hush falls over angel choirs,
As God weeps down His heart's desires.
Not tears of grief, but tears of gold,
Each drop a story gently told—
Of mercy wide and love so deep,
Of promises our souls may keep.
They fall on earth with silent grace,
To cleanse the hurt, renew each place.
A shimmer glows where pain once lay,
His golden tears light up the way.
In every drop, a whispered prayer,
A touch of hope, a breath of care.
He cries not out of loss or fear,
But when His children drift too near—
To pain, to pride, to paths unknown,
He calls them gently back to home.
And through the dark, through doubt and years,
We’re bathed within His golden tears.
So when the rain begins to gleam,
Remember love flows in each stream.
God’s golden tears are gifts, not cries—
Proof He still watches from the skies.
©heavenecho
H