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The traces of tears disappear in the desert |
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Where hot winds blow |
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The touch of a conscience is lost in the ice and snow |
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Ghosts of great cities, ruins of empires their spectres arise |
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No sign of the living beneath these skies |
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Minutes are passing, they turn into hours |
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The hours, they drift into days |
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O, Redeemer, lift us above this maze |
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Up from the wasteland, like a dream |
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Long forgotten reappearing, |
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Up from the wasteland |
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Now redeemed, from a winter bleak and weary |
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Dry bones collected, connected by sinews |
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Stand as an army of men |
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Filled with the Spirit, they enter this world again |
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Its glorious light, or grey desolation |
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The lines of the battle are drawn |
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Jehovah, the rock that we stand upon |
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Up from the wasteland, |
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We are drawn, to a glory never ending |
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Up from the wasteland |
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By His hand, our iniquity transcending |
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All our enemies beneath His feet |
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No height, nor depth, nor life, or death |
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Can take us away from His love |
