The light shone out of emptiness,
The void turned into space;
From dirt and sea sprung life
And the stars up in heaven sang.
The Father loves His Son
And wanted to give Him a Bride.
The youth of love was marred too soon.
Paradise was shattered.
There’s a garden with an angel
Standing guard at its gates,
But the two-timing Bride didn’t wander in shame:
The Father Himself robed her in fur.
Children cried and parents groaned,
Bearing the load of slavery.
Then somewhere in history
A sea split in two
So the Bride could pass through.
And the Son begged her, “Choose Me.”
She loved her neighbors, the wandering Bride.
She gave all of herself to their whims.
No fury can equal the Son’s when scorned:
He cast her away till she came crawling back.
He opened His arms and she left Him again,
And again, and again, and again.
Then the Son broke. “Enough,” He said.
The Father agreed;
The agreement was set.
The Bride’s endless cycle was torn in two.
There’s a cross standing in history
That says, “I love you.”
There’s a Father still making a Bride for His son,
A radiant Church of many made one.
But becoming’s not easy–the centuries pass
As she suffers and triumphs and struggles again.
Her past she laments with mournful shame
And little by little, her heart is renewed.
There’s a battle in history
That hasn’t yet come,
A loud peal of thunder,
Great horses and armies.
The ancient regime ends
When the Son returns for His Bride.
There’s light out of nothing
And an angel at a gate.
There’s a sea split in two
And an always-leaving Bride.
There’s a cross that says “I love you,”
And a white-clad Bride who finally says,
“I love you, too.”
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