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The Hope Of Ages

What seems to be in ruins
Is being rebuilt up.
The temple of the Spirit
Once again is cleansed.
The worship is rekindled,
The fire burning bright.
The glory of the Lord
Is now ready to descend.

The Bride that was in tatters
Is taken up with love.
Fully clothed in righteousness,
Divested of her dirt.
Purified in every way,
A crown upon her head.
Patient in the knowledge that
Her love is coming home.

The body is revitalised,
Dry bones become as flesh.
The breath of life is there within,
The body moves as one.
Every separate member
Is doing its own part.
Jesus is the head of it,
The spirit at the heart.

The army girds its armour,
The ranks are drawing in.
Preparing for a battle,
Assured of victory.
Sharpened swords are waiting
For the battle cry.
The Lord of Hosts is in the front,
The gates of Hell must fall.

The watchmen are all ready
As the king is coming home.
Standing on the walls still now.
Patient to the end.
The family is waiting,
Longing for their dad.
To come and shake the Earth again
And bless them more besides.

The Church throughout the ages
Has never, ever died.
New life springs up whenever
The old refuses change.
God is moulding, shaping
And perfecting for his own.
From every race and tribe and tongue,
A joyous holy throng. 

© Stephen Gray 1999
Deo Gloria