From the mud and dust below;
from the hateful drum of war;
from the tyranny of want,
our potential still can soar.
Planted in each breast of man,
waiting for its exaltation,
is the patient seed divine,
waiting for sin's abdication.
Bliss and rapture can be mine,
from this broken mortal frame,
when I testify of God
in the Savior's holy name.
You who do not know the joy
of the Master's gentle yoke,
find your pleasures melt away;
like the dew that turns to smoke.
The Lord will ravish all the earth
when next He claims His rights,
with joyfulness beyond the ken
of mankind's blinkered sights.
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