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It Is for Thee I've Come Beloved
I am here, can you not hear me breathe?
Is my nearness a calming thought,
When all about you is the raging tune,
My solace has been brought.
Where from the crumbled rubble spills,
The land imbued with gore,
And shouts of terror fill the atmosphere,
Your poor soul is damaged sore.
Feel my hand upon your fevored brow,
I can hear your ragged breath,
Softly bound in whitened linen robes,
Come to my bosom for I am death.
I am here, can you not feel my touch,
My nearness is not worrisome,
When all is tranquil in my heavy gauze,
Fear not it is for thee I've come.
It is for thee I've come O' my beloved,
To bear you on to yonder throne,
O' come my dear it is not far,
And you need not go alone.
by Ingar Kleiss
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