Come Lord! How long will this age be,
In which Your church still waits for Thee?
The Bridegroom's voice she longs to hear,
Hushed, listening, for Your footsteps near.
Anticipate now, eternal bliss,
And know that heaven surpasses this.
A foretaste Divine to us is given,
And though, but darkly, we glimpse a heaven.
The martyr's blood that precious seed,
Sown in the earth, a world to feed.
Has born her fruit abundantly,
A hundredfold - set millions free.
The hour draws near to take their place,
Their chief reward, to see Your face.
Come Lord and put and end to years,
Come Lord and wipe away the tears.
We your church long for the hour,
When all the world shall know your power,
And call on mountains and rocks to fall,
Their chances gone, on You to call.
When atoms burst from orbits free,
No longer held in place by Thee.
The elements themselves shall burn,
The Earth to ashes – Heaven the urn.
This weary world will cease to exist
And pass away like morning mist.
Dissolved as by the morning sun,
The dawning of an age to come.
Come Lord make up Your jeweled crown,
Your gems from all the world around.
Fit for heaven, too good for Earth?
Christ's death spelt out their real worth.
They look with joy to that great age,
When time has written its final page.
When going up to meet their King,
Their praises round all heaven will ring.
And join the throng around the throne
All eyes transfixed on God alone.
Ten thousand suns their glory bright
Rolled into one, would seem like night,
Compared to You the Eternal light
Who's glory shines forever bright.
This poem was a finalist in the August 2009 poetry contest