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 long,

We ache,

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 hesitation,

Without question –

Knowing one day all questions will pass away

On that day when we see you full.