Sunday, July 7, 2013

His Season Draws Nearer

Wooded was His tree of triumph
Rolled stone reveals this tomb empty
Three nails, three days, one way to God
I believed therefore I spoke
My sins asoaked in His scarlet dye whitewashed
My soul now free in liberty

I flow through the turmoil
The uncertainty of man’s times
Condemned to his condition without reconciliation
Left to his drowning whirlpool of foolish sagacity
My serenity is not of this earth
Nor is this terrestrial plane my abode

The season of nature is at hand
Near thee His season is nearer upon arrival
Quiet thyself, thy spirit
Eavesdrop ‘til you hear His Spirit
Be hushed… with eyesight and soul
The footsteps of a Savior draweth near and nearer

Sands of the hour glass draining, contrasting
For some, the deceitful days of wine and roses
Beckon with unbelief
For the elect, the trumpet polished, at the ready
Do you hear His footsteps?
He is coming as a thief
Near and nearer

Copyright 2012 Wandering Satellite Publishing

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