Though mountain peaks point me toward You,
Though the sea sings You songs of praise,
I will never comprehend You complete
In this dying age –
Here in this age where cathedrals burn
And words like cancer sting our tongues
And steal our breath;
Here where all is veiled in mystery,
Here where all is vanity.
Vanity of vanities, the Preacher cries –
Yet still he says Remember your Creator
In the days of your youth.
Remember Him before the cathedral
Turns to ash,
Before breath turns to vapor
And comes not again.
We, Your Bride, we wait,
We yearn for that day when the clouds unroll
And all is a-washed in light,
That day when the partial passes away
And we will see fully.
But now, with clouds overhead
And only glints of light,
Even now we are Your Bride.
And like Rebekah, who knew so little of Issac,
But knew enough,
We give our lives to You –
Without question –
Knowing one day all questions will pass away
On that day when we see you full.