Dale Lloyd

The greater glory is yet to come—
or so it has been said.
No, it hasn’t passed us by;
it is still ahead.

The best wine, so we’re told,
has not yet been tasted.
It comes later in the service,
and will not be wasted.

But when you’ve waited—waited long—
for that glory and that wine,
the promise hollows,
the words no longer shine.

The soul grows dull to sight and sound;
it neither hears nor sees.
We languish in the darkness
of a hope that seems to tease.

At least that’s how it feels some days.
The dream has lost its flame.
The nightmare takes its place,
and nothing looks the same.

So what is this time about—
this time that’s in between?
Is the Sovereign playing games with us?
Is He distant… even mean?

Or could it be He knows us—
our measure, not just our need?
He knows the weight of wine and glory
and when we’re ready to receive.

He’s not withholding without reason;
the story tells us why:
in the waiting, we are being shaped
for what is yet to arrive—

We are not moving from more to less,
nor from greater into least.
This road leads—glory to greater glory—
to the best wine of the feast.