Looking for the Lamb
She's looking, looking for the Lamb, my Son.
The thicket-ram, the Pesach blood declare
the lover We betook ourselves to spare
expects You: grieves, pines for the heart she's won.
She's waiting, waiting for the Word to stun
silence long endured, leap down from his lair,
speak comfort to his bride, her burden share:
taste her bitterness. Go, My Glory---run!
Ah Father, my delight's to speak your heart!
Your sore creation aches within Me, pleads
till Truth untie the lie tied at the start.
I run! Your Word made Flesh, your Mercy speeds
to soothe, to woo this bride, the lie outsmart,
as Flesh made Lamb takes on her wound and bleeds.
She's looking, looking for the Lamb, my Son.
The thicket-ram, the Pesach blood declare
the lover We betook ourselves to spare
expects You: grieves, pines for the heart she's won.
She's waiting, waiting for the Word to stun
silence long endured, leap down from his lair,
speak comfort to his bride, her burden share:
taste her bitterness. Go, My Glory---run!
Ah Father, my delight's to speak your heart!
Your sore creation aches within Me, pleads
till Truth untie the lie tied at the start.
I run! Your Word made Flesh, your Mercy speeds
to soothe, to woo this bride, the lie outsmart,
as Flesh made Lamb takes on her wound and bleeds.