Lady of the Lord

His Standard, once unfurled,
whips the weak into The World.
How long will you go grieving
the unfaithful to the King?

The Lord comes for His Lady
and with battle cry shall rise Her.
Does She quiver in her bower
or come striding out like Spring?

Dressed in the cloak once purchased
with His Body and His Blood,
she now plights her troth forever
with a heart unwavering.

The drumming of her countrymen
would seek to call Her back again
But, she is gone, gone -
dead to their woeful song.

Her ears, Her eyes, Her heart, Her throat,
full to the strains of Heaven's throng.

She kneels in fields
muddied black with blood
of Martyrs come before her breath,
which utters praise in ceaseless flood,
of Life she gains in death.