Bob Ryan

Lyrics

'Tis from Our rapture that...the realms above are raining down;
'Tis from Our anthem that the mysteries of faith are raining down.
Upon the Eastern wind Cathay's entrancing musk doth waft;
This sweetly scented breeze from our curling locks is raining down

The day-star of adornment hath dawned forth above the face of God;
Behold the mystic truth which from His Countenance is raining down.
The sea of purity hath from the wave of true reunion surged;
This precious, rare bestowal from Our rapture is raining down.

The treasuries of love lay hid within the very heart of Fars;
From out this treasure trove the pearls of faithfulness are raining down.
The splendour of the rose doth bring the ecstasy of choicest wine;
This subtle music from the ringing tones of Lordship is raining down.

The trumpet-blast of Judgment Day, the joyful bliss of heaven's call –
Both at a single breath are from the firmament now raining down.
The Day of “I am He” is made to shine resplendent from Our face;
The Age of “He is He” from out Our flowing cup is raining down.

Behold the fire of Moses, see His hand that shineth white;
Behold the heart of Sinai – from Our hand all raining down.
Hear ye the sotted lover's sighs, behold the garden blooming fair;
Behold the bliss that from His presence in your midst is raining down.
Behold the Lordly grace that from Our Pen is raining down.