Sunday Morning

Oh when the saints go marching in
On any given Sunday morn
Some are cheery and exalting
Some are battle bruised and worn

There is no common thread between them
Save the one that grace has wound
All orphans with a family
Once all lost, all now found

When He called they answered
Brought their burdens to the cross
Came with joy and sweet relief
And gladly counted cost

Christ has not built his Church
based on merit, wealth, or looks
tax collectors, whores, and sinners
transformed as people of the Book

The world has nothing for them
But Good News is preached within
So how I long to be in that number
When the saints go marching in