Now, when the frail and fine-spun
Web of mortality
Gapes and lets slip
What we have loved so long
Out of our lighted present
Into the trackless dark
We turn, blinded by Shekinah
We turn, blinded by Shekinah
To the Christ in Glory,
Stars beneath His feet
Turn to the Son of Man,
Turn to the Son of Man,
Back from the tomb,
Who built a fire, ate fish,
Spoke with friends, and walked
A dusty road at evening.
Here, in this room, in
Here, in this room, in
This stark and timeless moment,
We hear those footsteps
And
And
With suddenly lifted hearts
Acknowledge
The irrelevance of death
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