Glimmering sword piercing His side
Precious blood flowing down
Mixed with water, comes forth His bride
Yet just a babe, not ready for her gown.
Two thousand years have come and gone
The Groom has done His part, but what about this lady?
She cries aloud, "Lord Jesus come!"
But, alas, she's still a baby.
Grow up young woman! Can't you see?
The Lord tarries not of His own choosing.
The Father desires the bride to be
Spotless, holy, and uncompromising.
Bring out the myrrh, spare not the aloes
Cleansing must be done with cassia
Adorn yourself within your palace
The gold of Ophir for your sashes.
Oh so perfect, pure, and sweet
No blemish can be seen upon a bride fit for a King.
Examine yourself, my lady, wash your hands and feet
It's only through death to flesh that you may sing,
The song so lovely, the song so dear, the song of sweet surrender
The wooing of the Spirit calls from within the Bride
From this secret place of intimacy, the Lord will hear her
When the flesh is dead, the soul in submission, only her spirit cries!
When the Spirit and Bride say "Come!"
The Lord will surely hear her!
For the marriage of the Lamb is come
And His wife has made herself ready!