”The bride eyes not her garment, but her dear Bridegroom’s face, I will not gaze at glory, but on my King of grace, not at the crown He gifteth, but on His pierced hand, the Lamb is all the glory of Emmanuel’s land.”
The quiet road of longing bends at last,
Where shadows fade and weary miles cease;
Beyond the veil of all the seasons past,
A sudden morning breathes eternal peace.
No earthly language ever held the sound,
Nor canvas captured how the light is born;
Yet here, where mercy gathers all around,
The fractured heart forgets it had been torn.
For standing at the center of the skies,
Transfiguring the splendor and the gold,
The Savior waits with welcome in His eyes,
A beauty time could never tame or hold.
To see His wounds and hear Him speak my name,
Is every question stilled beneath His grace
The wandering extinguished in the flame
Of finding home within the living Face.