Wait
till the waters return again,
In patience abide the time,
Till He gathers His clouds, filled with rain,
Accenting the perfect rhyme.
The
water that's spilt upon the ground,
And mixed with the earth's decay,
Encounters God's processes profound,
His grace for the soul astray.
The
rivers that flow from mountainside,
From the womb of hidden springs,
In their natal hour sing with pride,
In the joy innocence brings.
But
follow along its downward course,
In the valleys below,
While the flesh and sin, diverting its force,
With filth the waters do slow.
Until
it gathers a stagnant pool,
A saddened and bitter state,
And loathes itself for playing the fool,
In sorrow bemoans its fate.
But
God, omnipotent, knows the way
To purge out the dross and shame,
And vaporizes by love's pure ray -
The water to thus reclaim.
So
wait till the waters return again,
O'erflowing they soul with praise
For all that was lost He shall regain,
To its former state shall raise.
The curses of sin shall be no more,
His righteousness shall prevail,
The truth has conquered as He foreswore,
His glory to now unveil.
