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