Story-Teller
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- Feb 22, 2009
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Epiphany
On that first morning of the world It’s said we fell from grace Since then our punishment is such We cannot see His face
Down through the ages we have sought To walk with Him again We build great monuments of stone For Him to dwell within
We’ve written hymns of ringing praise For organ, pipe and voice Raise high our hands to heaven’s height And pray we are His choice
Great altars have been made with hands The cups of purest gold Such soaring windows of stained glass With colors bright and bold
Marble, silver, onyx, sapphire Pews of richest wood Linen, lace and incense burning All beautiful and good
Then in the midst of these great works There stands a little child Who smiles at us in innocence With His face meek and mild
Copyright © 2001 William Price
On that first morning of the world It’s said we fell from grace Since then our punishment is such We cannot see His face
Down through the ages we have sought To walk with Him again We build great monuments of stone For Him to dwell within
We’ve written hymns of ringing praise For organ, pipe and voice Raise high our hands to heaven’s height And pray we are His choice
Great altars have been made with hands The cups of purest gold Such soaring windows of stained glass With colors bright and bold
Marble, silver, onyx, sapphire Pews of richest wood Linen, lace and incense burning All beautiful and good
Then in the midst of these great works There stands a little child Who smiles at us in innocence With His face meek and mild
Copyright © 2001 William Price
