New Life

I have a body; it was sown in weakness. I’ve seen it fall so many times.

The image of the first forefather; from dust it’s made and will return.

Like a kernel, rough and dry; its purpose long lost and dead.

There’s another, the last forefather; a man of heaven, a glorious being.

He wrapped his light in a shell of weakness; he became a man of dust for me.

He had a body much like mine; he was tempted, tested, tried.

He knew his purpose, he wasn’t lost; he had to let the kernel die.

His body killed, the shell put in the ground; he split that seed and glory broke out.

His body was real, the heavenly kind; and it’s become the one hope of mine.

The curse of death, the sting of sin; they still bring this piece of grain to its knees.

That last forefather, he gives me life; this dry kernel begins to germinate.

One day I’ll laugh with a body new; no fear, no worries, no more to try and do.

That day death is dead, sin is bound and I’ll be home.