The Far Country

This was one of the songs I played over and over when I drove over Texas, Missiouri, and Kentucky last January and February. It was just playing as I was making biscuits today, the last Saturday of my week long vacation. The words go with what I wrote a few posts ago.

The Far Country, by Andrew Peterson

Father Abraham, do you remember when
You were called to a land and didn’t know the way
‘Cause we are wandering in a foreign land
We are children of the promise of the faith
And I long to find it
Can you feel it, too?
That the sun that’s shining
Is a shadow of the truth

This is a far country, a far country
Not my home

In the dark of the night, I can feel the shadows all around me
Cold shadows in the corners of my heart
But the heart of the fight
Is not in the flesh but in the spirit
And the spirit’s got me shaking in the dark
And I long to go there
I can feel the truth
I can hear the promise
Of the angels of the moon

This is a far country, a far country
Not my home

I can see in the strip malls and the phone calls
The flaming swords of Eden
In the fast cash and the news flash
And the horn blast of war
In the sin-fraught cities of the dying and the dead
Like steel-wrought graveyards where the wicked never rest
To the high and lonely mountain in the groaning wilderness
We ache for what is lost
As we wait for the holy G of father Abraham

I was made to go there
Out of this far country
To my home, to my home