| Michael Card
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| (I Thessalonians 4:13)
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| Maranatha is a cry of the heart
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| That’s hopeful yet weary of waiting
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| While it may be joyful with the burdens it bears
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| It’s sick with anticipating
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| To long for the Promised One day after day
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| And the promise that soon He’d return
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| It’s certain that waiting’s the most bitter lesson
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| A believing heart has to learn
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| Maranatha
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| How many more moments must this waiting last
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| Maranatha, we long for the time when all time is past
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| A commotion, a call then that will be all
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| Though it’s not yet the hour
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| The minutes are ticking away
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| Maranatha is the shout of the few
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| Who for so long in history’ve been hiding
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| Who truly believe that the sound of that call
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| Might actually hasten His coming
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| For no eye has seen and no ear has yet heard
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| And no mind has ever conceived
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| The joy of the moment when He will appear
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| To the wonder of all who believe
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| Maranatha, how hungry we are just to see Your face
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| Parousia, to finally fall in one long embrace
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| A commotion, a call and that will be all
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| Though it’s not yet the hour
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| The minutes are ticking away |