I picture being by the river
harps, violins, all do ring
as the Lords songs, we sing
sorrow and heartache, all are felt
in the land, strange land, carried as captives.
hearts heavy, songs again need to live.
in hearts, which journey, in different direction
away from truth, lost they are,
songs needing to return, in hearts.
by the river, healing can be found
in a new land, people worshiping the true God
barriers lifted, across the sinful sod.
the Lords song, being sung again,
in every land, every age
worshiping the true God, before its too late.
the river tells a story, of long ago
where rivers of grace once again flowed.
grace looked upon the direction it was going.
with power and majesty, the glory of the lord
moved across the land, love now being poured
in the land, unfolding itself, bringing peace
on the face of man, joining them together
by the river, of healing, where men now gather.
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