The Girl Who Waits

How long she waits with eager ache,
For her groom to come at dawn.
Awake, she waits for light to break,
To see her king with sword so drawn.

His mighty wrath she cannot fear,
For she’s been bought from death with blood.
And so she cries, “My Lord, appear!
With sweetest love like heavy flood.”

“The ache,” she weeps, “it breaks my bones,
My heart feels long forsook.
Spare me from these dying moans,
And lead me beside quiet brook.”

But when the world is new again,
Where will all her ache have gone?
It will be mere memory,
So she might praise the final dawn.

To take the crown off her own head,
And cast them down at the feet of He
Who took the dark and made it light,
So His glory she may see.

And when she’s there beyond her years,
The greatest grace will yet to be.
For there, in glory, she shall be,
Forever in eternity.

And all of this, the Lord of Hosts,
Has vanquished all her fears!
Death is dead! Praise the Head,
Who’s wiped away her tears!

‘Till then she waits with aching heart,
To see her king return again.
With tears she waits to play her part,
To welcome back the God of men.