Heckling pierces the Son of God.
The world clamors loud with self.
And we who would follow,
We leave Him alone...
As we sleep to our calling.
Time and again, wonder aches, who would I be?
Questioning the soul depths raw.
To be John at His feet, thundering soul... beloved,
Simon of Cyrene grappling strength unknown the world's sin anchor,
Mary weeping motherhood from her womb's heart
Ah, but, I... I am the rugged weight heaped, heaved.
Yet the sun rises.
And He waits.
He waits for me in love which knows not beginning nor end.
His call soft carries across pasture dew-fresh
Of heaven-to-earth expanse.
His eyes soft rest upon my own.
Even in our lack of vision,
Until the clamoring stills hushed,
Until our hearts ease tender,
Until our ears tune to His beckoning...
Waits the Lamb.
In the dawn of His Glory
Our eyes rise
To meet our Savior.
Let our voices peal praise!
It is Christ come for us.
With a hushed heart in the garden,