Post by darkaus on Aug 16, 2011 7:09:48 GMT -8
When will I hear that horn be blown… Oh shall that final time be ever?
It means the end of all I’ve known and then the birth of the unseen.
Will they think that I have grown, when in those skies I stand before them?
Shall he call me forth once more..? Will that last calling see me clean?
Mine eyes have seen the heavens glories… mine lips have spoke the ancient word,
Mine hands have touched eternal splendors… and with mine ear the truth I’ve heard.
But in my pride and in my folly I came to shun such easy graces…
This lay me low amongst my brothers,
and many of us lost our places.
So I am waiting for the horn to sound
I am waiting for that final call
For when the end is come and all must rise
Somehow I must convince him I shan’t fall
Was I not made to soar above all this?
As a thing of light, of love, and holy bliss?
No I was not brought forth to cringe, to crawl…
I should have suffered not at all.
And therein lies the thought I cannot shake,
When I’m at rest, asleep, or wide awake.
He made his other children born so low…
It’s always been their fate to suffer so.
And yet, he seems to love them all the more,
For how they struggle, hate and summon war,
No matter how they fail, how far they roam…
His hosts rejoice if even one comes home.
Will that not be the case for me, I fear?
What would he say to me should I draw near?
Will he stay his hand or strike me down?
Shall I rise up or will he let me drown?
Having known the truth but turned aside, when blinded by an overzealous pride,
May have left me beyond any hope of casting off these chains and heavy yoke.
But if I let that thought take hold of me… then truly beyond any help I’d be,
For in disasters we draw our designs, and any doom I meet I made it mine.
How I miss the gardens I have known… How I miss my endless skies of stars,
I miss the sand upon the shores we walked, I miss the comforts that once were ours.
But more than these I miss what can’t be seen; I miss that holiest of places…
I miss my place before the throne of pearl,
I miss his splendor and his graces.
Oh let that final horn be blown… oh let those final notes be sounded!
I’ve wandered too long in the dark; my eyes are failing from the glair.
I’ve little time left to repent… it won’t be long before I’m shrouded,
And I must find him before that… or where I’ll lye he shan’t be there.
It means the end of all I’ve known and then the birth of the unseen.
Will they think that I have grown, when in those skies I stand before them?
Shall he call me forth once more..? Will that last calling see me clean?
Mine eyes have seen the heavens glories… mine lips have spoke the ancient word,
Mine hands have touched eternal splendors… and with mine ear the truth I’ve heard.
But in my pride and in my folly I came to shun such easy graces…
This lay me low amongst my brothers,
and many of us lost our places.
So I am waiting for the horn to sound
I am waiting for that final call
For when the end is come and all must rise
Somehow I must convince him I shan’t fall
Was I not made to soar above all this?
As a thing of light, of love, and holy bliss?
No I was not brought forth to cringe, to crawl…
I should have suffered not at all.
And therein lies the thought I cannot shake,
When I’m at rest, asleep, or wide awake.
He made his other children born so low…
It’s always been their fate to suffer so.
And yet, he seems to love them all the more,
For how they struggle, hate and summon war,
No matter how they fail, how far they roam…
His hosts rejoice if even one comes home.
Will that not be the case for me, I fear?
What would he say to me should I draw near?
Will he stay his hand or strike me down?
Shall I rise up or will he let me drown?
Having known the truth but turned aside, when blinded by an overzealous pride,
May have left me beyond any hope of casting off these chains and heavy yoke.
But if I let that thought take hold of me… then truly beyond any help I’d be,
For in disasters we draw our designs, and any doom I meet I made it mine.
How I miss the gardens I have known… How I miss my endless skies of stars,
I miss the sand upon the shores we walked, I miss the comforts that once were ours.
But more than these I miss what can’t be seen; I miss that holiest of places…
I miss my place before the throne of pearl,
I miss his splendor and his graces.
Oh let that final horn be blown… oh let those final notes be sounded!
I’ve wandered too long in the dark; my eyes are failing from the glair.
I’ve little time left to repent… it won’t be long before I’m shrouded,
And I must find him before that… or where I’ll lye he shan’t be there.
