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Epiphany

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On that first morning of the world
It’s said we fell from grace
Since then our punishment is such
We cannot see His face

Down through the ages we have sought
To walk with Him again
We build great monuments of stone
For Him to dwell within

We’ve written hymns of ringing praise
For organ, pipe and voice
Raise high our hands to heaven’s height
And pray we are His choice

Great altars have been made with hands
The cups of purest gold
Such soaring windows of stained glass
With colors bright and bold

Marble, silver, onyx, sapphire
Pews of richest wood
Linen, lace and incense burning
All beautiful and good

Then in the midst of these great works
There stands a little child
Who smiles at us in innocence
With His face meek and mild

Copyright © 2001 William Price

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