Like withering grass, days slowly pass;
I wonder why You haven’t come.
My dreams still wait—the hour is late;
When will my great deliverance be?
And bending low, You whisper, “So…
You think this dream you’re longing for,
Is way behind, and you can’t find,
The pathway out of great dilemma?”
Ah, child of Mine, for gold refined…
Is it not true Refiner waits…
To see in gold—His image bold,
One of His Son—Sweet Lamb of God?
These long delays, met with dismay,
Will yield a treasure—more shining glory;
And when you tell, (you know it well)
Of desert days? What awesome story!
Then waiting days, with irksome delays,
Will sing of praise and greater glory;
And many shall see, your trusting in Me,
As Golden Light shines from your life!
And you shall know, from days you sowed,
This Harvest Dream—come true, “At last!”