Where is the glory that made it His story,
the power that made it His hour?
The glorious light restoring men's sight
and drove out the demons with power?
Where is the glory that made it His story,
the power men fled from in fear?
The thundering sound and the trembling ground
that was seen when Jehova drew near?
Where is the glory that made it His story,
when thousands were fed fish and bread?
When seas calm were made by the voice they obeyed
and women received back their dead?
Where is the glory that made it His story,
has it left us, are we Ichabod?
Are we now bereft and without power left?
Oh where is the glory of God?
Where is the glory that made it His story,
without it we're bankrupt and lost
We must return to prayer and persevere there
till we taste once again Pentecost!
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