A Glimpse of Heaven
During a glimpse of heaven, I remember how every blade of grass, every drop in every stream, carried a note... a living symphony crying: Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lamb. Not
During a glimpse of heaven, I remember how every blade of grass, every drop in every stream, carried a note... a living symphony crying:
Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lamb.
Nothing pushed back against Him. Everything moved in agreement.
The air itself... alive with worship. A constant current of adoration.
How often do you lift your eyes?
Do you cry in gratitude?
Are you moved by His love... daily?
Or has the noise of this world quieted the song?
You were made to be part of His music... even here.
Let Him tune you.
Gibbo
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