My Bride

My bride will be spotless, white as snow.
She looks forward, the groom she knows.
He is the one that will call her by name,
And in a twinkling of the eye, up she goes one day.
She is fixing herself and fully arrayed of holiness,
mature growth and waiting anxiously to say;
"Come my beloved, come my King,
I am yours and with you I'll stay."
The trumpet will sound and the bride in a flash,
Will be with her love, forever it does last.
She is the treasured jewel, He wears in his crown,
He's counting the seconds before he comes down.
Claiming what's his, He will snatch her away, the
precious jewel, she awaits.

by Tania Wiseman

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