Recording · Isaiah
Isaiah Pt. 1, The Prophet's Vision
Isaiah 1:1-39:8
Website recording
Listen to the complete song
Listen to Isaiah Pt. 1, The Prophet's Vision, a Cinematic Bible Songs recording based on Isaiah 1:1-39:8.
- Artist
- Cinematic Bible Songs
- Bible book
- Isaiah
- Scripture
- Isaiah 1:1-39:8
Recording
Acoustic Blues
Isaiah Pt. 1, The Prophet's Vision
Isaiah 1:1-39:8
Readable lyric sheet
Lyrics
These words follow the timed lyric file supplied with this recording.
I planted a vineyard on a fertile hill. Cleared the stones
with my own hand. I watched it bloom and I watched
it spill. Wild grapes upon my land. The watchtower stands but
the song is gone And the press runs dry as bone
What more could I have done for you Before I left
you all alone In the year that the king lay dead
I saw the Lord upon his throne And the seraphim cried
out above his head
Holy, holy, holy the Lord of hosts is
here.
Holy, holy, holy, and the proud shall know his fear.
A call from the altar to the trembling mouth, a voice
that splits the dark.
God bless
And his name shall come from heaven Wonderful Counselor, mighty God
Everlasting Prince of Peace And the wolf shall lie beside the
lamb When the kingdoms of men shall cease How art thou
fallen, O morning star Who said, I will climb the sky
I will set my throne above the stars of God. I
will lift myself up high. But the pit is deep and
the pit is cold. And the proud shall not ascend. For
the Lord alone shall be exalted in the day without an
end.
Holy, holy, holy The Lord of hosts is here
Holy, holy, holy And the
proud shall know His fear A call from the altar to
the trembling mouth A voice that splits the dark Here am
I, Lord, send me out
The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold His
banners filled the plain And he mocked the God of Jacob
from the gate And he called the holy vein But the
king went up to the house of the Lord And he
spread the letter wide And he said, O Lord, the God
of Israel Save us from this time
And the angel of the Lord went forth that night Through
the camp upon the hill And when the morning broke upon
the field The hosts of war were still A hundred and
eighty and five thousand fell Where the proud had pitched their
tent And the king of Assyria turned for home With his
glory broken and spent
Holy, holy, holy
The Lord of hosts has spoken
Holy, holy, holy And
the rod of the proud is broken A cold from the
altar to the trembling mouth A voice that splits the dark
Hearing my Lord send me out
With the burning on my heart
Thank
