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
