The Rusty Throne

The Rusty Throne

There it sits, your rusty throne

Filthy, tarnished, all alone

Jagged, crooked, full of spite

Cobwebs veil it all in white

Pride, sense, lusts within your sight

None of them will sit quite right

But when He takes His rightful place

He will fill it with His grace

The throne itself shall turn to gold

A wedding banquet to behold

Shimmering linens, sparkling plates

Hurry, hurry! Don't be late

From the throne spring forth a well

A living fount who comes to tell:

"You must always guard this spot

All the others are for naught

For mine alone this throne shall be

I in you and you in Me."

The waters gush, the tables glows

as every goblet overflows

But should He give His chosen seat

to things we find and those we meet

The shining throne true luster lacks

it fades and dies, begins to crack

Again a shell, by rust beset

But do not worry, do not fret

For if the throne to God restore

The spring of mercy flows once more.