the thief arrives before the break of dawn, while unlit wicks and slumbering lamps are drawn. the space of stars his breath unrolled, where many centuries seem swiftly told. galaxies awoke when he commanded light, and burning hosts were stationed in the night. creation groans within its labor deep, awaiting promises the lord will keep. and formed from soil, breathing holy wind, we walk a fallen world that he will mend. we were not there when earth began its span, nor near the final trumpet of the lamb, yet every heartbeat marked upon our chest was bought with love to find eternal rest. our god is a consuming flame, who guards the honor of his name; the wrath of judgment was outpoured, and through his wounds we are restored. weighed by the ruler of the first and last, our flesh is only grass that withers fast. measured against our neighbors in the dust, we crown an idol out of mortal lust. yet in this swift and vanishing domain, let holy fire consume our mortal frame. a witness crying where the desert cries, a hilltop city seen by searching eyes. not sparks that vanish in the midnight shade, but children of the day his mercy made. our god is a consuming flame, who guards the honor of his name; the wrath of judgment was outpoured, and through his wounds we are restored. the worth of souls was never bound to years, nor weighed by worldly counts of joy and tears. the lightning flashes from the east to west, while melting hills obey the king's behest. the smallest grain of faith the meek possess can cast a mountain into the abyss. a wooden cross, a crown of thorns and pain, tore down the veil and broke the devil's chain. our purpose never rested in our span, but in the mercy of the son of man. this earth will roll away just like a scroll, and graves will open to release the soul. the kings of dust and all their golden fame will fade to ash and never leave a name. so let our hearts cease asking if the clay will celebrate our deeds another day; the only question of the spirit free: will christ our savior be unveiled in me? our god is a consuming flame, who guards the honor of his name; the wrath of judgment was outpoured, and through his wounds we are restored. if life is swift as weavers throw their thread, seek not the treasures of the rotting dead. look to the hills and raise your lifted brow, the throne of heaven echoes holy now. we were not made for this corrupted ground, where thorns and grief and bitter tears abound, we were delivered by the blood outpoured to walk the narrow pathway of the lord. in one swift blink, the trumpet of god will sound, and immortality will clothe the ground. our god is a consuming flame, who guards the honor of his name; the wrath of judgment was outpoured, and through his wounds we are restored.
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