Remembering that old promise of a future by Kai-Anne Clews

My Lord! You gave me hope that from death you could cleave, When the buried body began to breathe. And when in my own grave, dead but asleep, Awaiting the footfalls of my Lord that will keep, All the prophecies true as we read - Knowing the true Rock of Gibraltar, to which we must cleave. When we awake, all things will be made new – Generations called Lazarus, dazzling with Truth – Reflecting their Lord, in his Ancient and beautiful Youth. What then can await, no mind can declare – Nor even sense the sweetness of that day’s air – We are left with our faithfulness, And the light debonair – Remembering that old promise, Of a new life under Thy care.