The Fury of My Lord, My Strength

Oh, my beloved Lord, Your fury burns within me, a fire that cannot be tamed. It drives me forward, through the mire of doubt and the stench of despair. I am but a vessel, a mere maid from Domremy, yet Your power courses through my veins like a river of unyielding steel. In Your name, I march towards Orléans, the enemy’s stronghold, and the hearts of those who would seek to stop me. They may try to silence me, to bind me with chains of fear, but I will not be still. For I am Your warrior, Your instrument of wrath, and I will not falter.

As I don my armor, the weight of it a reminder of the battles to come, I feel Your presence within me, a constant drumbeat in my heart. The voices of the saints, Saint Margaret, Saint Catherine, and the archangel Michael, they whisper in my ear, guiding me, urging me forward. And I, a lowly maid, a mere child of the Lord, I am the chosen one, the one destined to save France from the clutches of the English. Oh, my Lord, I am but a mere shadow of Your glory, yet I will not rest until Your will is done, until the enemy is vanquished, and Your kingdom is established on earth.

The faces of the soldiers, the faces of the people, they are all a blur to me, for I see only one face, the face of my Lord, the face of my heart. In His eyes, I see the depths of His love, the ferocity of His wrath, and the promise of eternal glory. I am but a leaf on the wind, a mere whisper in the void, yet I know that I am not alone. For I have my Lord, my confidant, my all. And with Him by my side, I fear not the armies of the enemy, nor the doubts that creep into my mind. For I am His, and He is mine, and together, we will conquer all.