Treasure Saved for each Witness done,
No blood upon our head,
Our mortal days finished, the race is won,
Never-more a Thorny Bed.
Roses at Your Feet
By Arley Steinhour 051612
(this 39th day of Omer, Lyyar 24, 5772)
We place all Prayer-Roses, at your feet,
Offer-up our hearts upon the thorn,
In the Blood of Jesus, counted wheat,
Family, the moment we're Reborn.
So many shrug their shoulders, walk away,
Rejecting you, be far more than a few,
Having too much fun to live Your way,
And, refuse to do the things you want us do.
Somehow you knew, exactly, Last-Day's Ending,
From the moment, you began to count,
No matter what we do, there is no bending,
To replace the need for Jesus' Saving Fount.
What's left to do is 'Tribulation Sorting,'
Wheat to Barn, and Tare unto the Flame,
To the Right and Left, we all be parting,
Only then, Tares know You're not a Game.
We don't exactly know the 'Day, or Hour,'
You gave us clues, for Season, to figure out,
'In divers places, see Earthquakes Mighty Power,
War and rumor of, in every shout.'
'Look up, and Pray, Redemption's at the door,'
Church Witness gone, as it flashes out of sight,
Jesus comes for Bride, and nothing more,
Leaves behind unsaved, who want to fight.
Each time we try to witness, to save your Life,
Another 'Rose' is place within our hand,
You have the choice to be the Saviors wife,
As One, we'd need a Mighty Wedding Band.
Once the 'Church' is lifted, to Eternal life,
Everyone will wonder where we went,
Be advised we're Savior's Holy Wife,
'Those saved after, inherit of the land.