Sickle Harvest Hymn

(scratching: "Fresh! ... Check it!")

Upon Mount Zion stands the Lamb,

with one hundred forty-four thousand in place,

Having His Father's name sealed on their foreheads,

showcasing grace. (ooh-yeah,

the Lamb stands)

A voice like many waters and loud thunder resound,

a melody unfolds, Voices of harpists playing,

singing a new song,

before the elders, it enfolds.

Marked with purity, they follow the Lamb wherever He goes,

Redeemed from among men,

as first fruits to God and the Lamb,

they arose.

(uh-huh, we rise up) In their mouths,

no guile is found,

they stand blameless, washed anew,

A reflection of holiness and truth,

displayed ever true.

An angel soars high,

heralding the eternal Gospel for every tribe and nation,

“Fear God, give Him glory; the hour of judgment comes to each

station.”

Upon Mount Zion stands the Lamb,

with one hundred forty-four thousand in place,

Having His Father's name sealed on their foreheads,

showcasing grace.

(sealing the name, yeah)

Worship Him who made heaven,

earth, and sea, the springs of water,

divine— A call to return,

turning hearts to the Creator’s powerful sign.

Another angel follows, proclaiming,

“Fallen is Babylon, the great city fell; She made all nations drink

the wine of her fornication,

the dark spell.”

(the great city falls!)

Yet another declares, a dire warning to those marked by the beast’s

ways,

Judgment comes with torment and fire,

a forever dire blaze.

Here is the call for the saints’ perseverance and faith,

Those who keep God’s commandments and the faith of Jesus,

not to abate.

Voice from heaven blesses those who die in the Lord from henceforth,

resting from labour, Their works do follow;

their lives a testimony of steadfast favour.

(resting from our labour,

yes we rest...)

A vision comes of a white cloud,

the Son of Man with a golden crown,

Holding a sharp sickle,

ready to reap the harvest,

renown.

An angel cries with loud voice,

“Thrust in the sickle and reap,

for ripe is the earth’s grain;” The harvest of the earth is

gathered, falling like rain.

(reap the grain, gather the harvest!) Another angel comes with a sickle;

from the altar, a call,

“Gather the clusters of the vine of the earth,

for fullness should fall.” The vintage is gathered,

thrown into God’s winepress of wrath outside the city’s sight,

The winepress is trodden,

flowing blood to depths,

in its might.

(flowing deep, yeah)

O God of Grace,

may we, too, follow the Lamb with steadfast devotion.

Enable us to heed the call of Your Eternal Gospel,

holding firm to Your commandments as we persevere in hope amidst tribulations.

Let our lives be a melody of Your unyielding love,

drawing others to Your eternal light.

Amen.

(hummmmm, amen, yes...)