Messiah

Messiah

Zechariah 12:10

Whispers of song—ancient of days—

Flow through the deserts, lost to my gaze.

Casting themselves on vapors of wind,

How shall I tell you? Whom can I send?

Gathering dust in scrolls old and worn,

The voices cry of One to be born.

But pierced in half, the book ne'er complete,

The dirges of history lay at my feet.

How can I tell you? What shall I say?

Every veiled utterance, more blood to pay.

Mercy departing, dark cov'ring light,

Save from the anguish of this endless night.

Yet the God of all comfort, who died in our stead,

No path known to humans His feet have not tread.

For His plan was established; His Word not in vain.

And a remnant of nations now rest in the name.

Through Zion alone, the echoes of grief

As the centuries dwindle, but the time left is brief.

And though blasphemies pour from faces of scorn,

On the day that they see Him, that day they shall mourn.

The firstborn of Israel, irreparably scarred,

Transfigured before them, the way no more barred.

Mercy returning, light cov'ring shade,

Through Jesus—our Savior—the price has been paid.