How perfect, how pretty, how stunningly white

The new fallen snow just lights up the night

As silvery moon beams glow achingly bright

O’er the street where the church casts its shadow.

A meeting of remnants that make up the flock

Got started as stated at seven o’clock

But why do so few still flee to the Rock?

And meet where the church casts its shadow?

The pastor has labored and prayed for success

That its families attend to his sacred address

And by their revival, a new spirit possess

And share where the church casts its shadow.

Unseen by the members all absent that night

Was a Hovering Spirit about to alight,

For many, the doors to their hearts were locked tight

And no light came to brighten their window. 

Another church filled with strife and debate

Stalled and withstood until finally too late

And by dark decision, made the latter rain wait;

And we still seek God in that shadow.

And yet, some dare dream of that prophesied shower

When we shall receive of promised new power

While absenting ourselves from the soul searching hour;

How shall we ever escape from our shadow?

As the Teacher of Righteousness knocks at the door

Will we grieve Him away as so many before?

Or will we meekly confess,  and humbly implore

Till His glory through us lifts all shadow?

Then with each sin-stained robe made bright snowy white

We too may glow in the dark moral night;

And that glory allow others to see Jesus aright,

While His Spirit on us doth o’ershadow.