Threshing Floor

Soiled Feet, stained purple by the work done before
Every day before, the purple dye would glisten anew
Now- It is faded.
And I am raw.
I have been steady marching on, until now
There is no energy left in me,

I left my beautiful cistern,
The one carved for me at birth
where the water never dries out
and it is filling and satisfactory.
Yet here I am,
Drinking where no water runs
I bend my head and it disappears in the cracks
woven like a basket in the market place
It is useless.

So I consider returning,
and I am asked if I will be counted as one?
Can I be one of the children?
Can I sing songs to the Glory of the Lamb
Can I join in in the chorus?
Can I bear my heart out and worship?
Will I surrender at the Threshing floor?
Where I will be stamped on,
torn apart and the chaff in me,
Burned in the fire...

In the distance I hear a faint "hallelujah"
With new determination,
I grab the horn in my belt,
raise it to my lips
and cry: Let's go back to worship!
Where I will sing songs to the Glory of the Lamb
I will cry Hallelujah! He is my God
and Glory to his name.

If we can return to the place of worship, everything will be okay. Never let me go, always pull me back, not till it's too late. The enemy knows when we get back we will obtain the power to hurt him.
So, in your way and in my way let us Sing songs to the Glory of the Lamb!
And return to the water! The living water that springs from the cistern he has created for us.

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