Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Come Home


You could hear her sob
Her life's not right with God
Her clothes are filthy
She eats decaying food
Her sleep is filled with dread
As she tosses and turns
Upon her sinful bed
Her leadership is blind
Wearing armor of mortal man
No longer crafted
By the Master's hand
She's tired of the carnal mind
Open, my Jesus, the oil and wine
Hear the cries of the remnant
Make haste !
The call for repentance
Bathe her !
With Your blood bought flow
So all mankind will know
America is not tossed
By every wind of doctrine
She is our home
Placing Jesus back
As our Cornerstone !

Judy L Wilson
September 2008

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