Beneath the blood-lit, wrathful skies,
Where Jericho’s proud bulwark lies,
A woman, marked by mortal stain,
Clutched at a thread through smoke and flame.
The hidden heralds spoke in gloom:
\"Bind scarlet life against thy doom;
When wrath shall shake these stones to sand,
Thy house shall stand by Heaven’s hand.\"
The trumpet\'s cry, the warrior’s tread,
Cast kings to ruin, crowned the dead;
Yet by her window, crimson-born,
A single line defied the storm.
Thus Rahab, daughter of the dust,
Was gathered to the halls of trust;
The scarlet thread, like blood once spilled,
Spoke louder than the walls it killed.