Upon the Mount
Sweet music softly flows from lute and lyre;
from bodhram beats the ever-ancient past,
and notes are still the same within the fire
of truth—Your words engrained in us still last.
The day is different, yet it's still the same;
upon the mount, Your open arms and hands
still beckon us with truth that shall remain
within us...by Your grace—we understand.
Upon this mount, I listen while you speak—
Your sermon, instrumental in my life.
As others on the mount, I too shall seek
Your way, as though an ever-playing fife.
Upon this mount, my love to You, I give—
Oh You, who conquered death so I could live...
Sweet music softly flows from lute and lyre;
from bodhram beats the ever-ancient past,
and notes are still the same within the fire
of truth—Your words engrained in us still last.
The day is different, yet it's still the same;
upon the mount, Your open arms and hands
still beckon us with truth that shall remain
within us...by Your grace—we understand.
Upon this mount, I listen while you speak—
Your sermon, instrumental in my life.
As others on the mount, I too shall seek
Your way, as though an ever-playing fife.
Upon this mount, my love to You, I give—
Oh You, who conquered death so I could live...