WHEN...

When the far calls near and the sound is heard

Of silent songs in tones of gold,

In tireless rhythms, rapture's dance,

The one who treads divine with feet unscathed

The burning breast of earth, the One

For whom the ages yearn has come.

O mighty hand, heal all our scars,

And wipe the stain of tears from eyes

That never clear could never see

Thy Face, that makes of sun a moon,

Reflecting Thy Omnipotence.