Poetry

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LORD MY LONGING IS TO CAPTURE
IN THE FORM OF PURE WHITE STONE.
ALL THE BEAUTY OF THE RAPTURE
WHEN YOU MAKE YOUR BRIDE YOUR OWN.

RISING FROM THE GRAVE TO MEET YOU
MADE ALIVE BY YOUR COMMAND.
THEY ARE FIRST IN LINE TO GREET YOU
AND TO GRASP YOUR NAIL PIERCED HAND.

THEN THE LIVING IN A TWINKLING
ARE LIKE THEM CAUGHT UP TO YOU,
EVEN WHILE THE EYE IS BLINKING
ALL THE REDEEMED ARE MADE NEW.

THE CHURCH NOW IS YOUR HOLY BRIDE
WORTHY OF ETERNAL BLISS.
IN YOUR PRESENCE SHE WILL ABIDE
NEVER ENDING LOVE IS THIS.

LET THIS BE OUR BLESSED HOPE LORD
BE WE DEAD OR STILL ALIVE.
TO BE RAPTURED IN ONE ACCORD
WHEN THAT DAY AT LAST ARRIVE.

ALL NOW ONE, ASCEND CLEARLY
EYES FOR NONE BUT YOU ALONE.
HER PERFECTION YOU BOUGHT DEARLY
FOR THIS BRIDE TO SHARE YOUR THRONE.

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