Dale Lloyd

Nebuchadnezzar took a royal stroll,
declaring he was in control.
He gazed upon his empire grand
and claimed it rose by his own hand.

“Great Babylon—I made you great.
I open wide, I seal your gate.”
And while his words hung in the air,
Another heard him—standing there.

In less than a moment—what could he claim?
He didn’t even know his name.
Struck down by sudden insanity,
a living sign for all to see.

Cast out with wild beasts and ox,
his reason shattered—mind unlocked.
His nails grew long like talons curled,
a king undone before the world.

O arrogant ruler, crowned with pride,
there’s always Another at your side—
less than half a breath away,
watching closely how you play.

When He determines, “It is enough,”
you vanish like a silent puff—
like smoke that thins and clears from sight
while nations watch in wordless fright.

Yet pride is not the final word,
nor judgment’s end the whole of it.
The greater grace than elimination
is seeing you, in devastation,

bend the knee once held so high
and lift your eyes toward the sky—
to know the throne you thought your own
was never yours, but His alone.