A Glorious Church

A Glorious Church

Do you hear them coming, brother,

Thronging up the steeps of light,
Clad in glorious, shining garments,
Blood-washed garments, pure and white?
'Tis a glorious church, without spot or wrinkle,
Washed in the blood of the Lamb.
'Tis a glorious church, without spot or wrinkle,
Washed in the blood of the Lamb.

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