Holding fast to my little pile of dreams,
drawing them neatly next to my heart,
aching for the time of sweet surrender
when my maker will at last come
down.
I watch for the day when life will stand still,
vigilant to the coming of a saviour.
I wis hand hope,
sing and pray, for the heralding trumpet sound.
My soul will be safe in a cleft of the Rock,
and nestled next to the hearth of my home.
For the treasure stored up in that fair palace
I am waiting, patiently, quietly, waiting here and now. |