The Lord said, “Go to Pharaoh’s gate, his heart is hard, but I will wait. My signs will speak, my wonders show, so children’s children too may know.”

Moses stood with staff in hand, a prophet bold in Egypt’s land. “Let God’s people rise and go, to worship Him, to bow, to know.”

But pride held tight in Pharaoh’s chest, he offered men, denied the rest. The locusts came on eastern breeze, devouring crops, stripping trees.

They filled the homes, they darkened skies, a plague of wings, a prophet’s cries. Pharaoh begged, “forgive again,” But hardened hearts returned to sin.

Still Moses prayed, and winds obeyed, the locusts fled, the fields were saved. But Pharaoh’s pride refused to bend, and so the warnings did not end.

The Lord had shown His mighty hand, yet Egypt would not understand. The hearts of kings may still grow cold, when truth is traded out for gold.