praise
When every path swings widely through the plain,
My Lord, come lead me in the'ternal way,
For there is naught no other love as this,
No vibrant peace nor everlasting stay,
But you, in you, all things would have a name.
Why must things fall apart,
And weariness fall long into a dart?
The pierces and the leaving ache,
The emptiness of hands rising too late,
There is no blood to spill.
No mark of casualty to fill-
These empty hands- yet so I raise,
Them here to You, the one I praise,
The one I rail upon and find so true,
Draw near to me, draw near would You?
Ascending heights all mount in glory,
A saddle of the earth here ruled,
And there so highly lifted up: a cross,
The crown of all such escapades,
The beauty in the bricks and gothic face,
The light that grants the world to see,
That is the one who made its horror majesty.
I call You Great Comforter, friend,
The standing rock in splashing seas,
All else is deathly deep but you,
On you I find my feet. My feet,
Shall never falter this I know,
For you are firm though all else moves,
And even time finds pause in you.
And even stars find night in you.
And even stones find songs in you!
And even I'll find peace in you.
Great governor of all coincidence,
The wheels of fate spin weblike to and fro,
Proliferating from the throne of providence,
On axises they forever run unmoved,
Within a limit and for each full time.
I'm conking out in style,
Where roads inevitably end,
And plastered with a sleepy smile,
For most my energy is gladly spent,
The happy work is done,
With lifted and anointed praise,
New stories of His grace begun!
And out of sight the happy work of saints as well.
With the open heavens for choice,
With each galactic throne to greet,
You choose to not withhold your voice,
To make this tiny tent your seat,
O You, Great God, are greater than all words,
For you make mighty men of weak,
That you would shame all things that are,
With that that's not but humbly seeks.
Steady over sun-kissed fields,
The Lord deals mightily with me,
Firm seat of all the fears I yield,
What heights to which He cares for me!
Again I fall so stricken weak,
So full of little weariness,
But here a brother! This I seek,
Who tells me that the Lord's done more with less,
Who speaks to me the grace that we do share.
What wondrous kindling does make,
A contrite heart and budding love,
A muttered and exalted prayer,
On weary and impassioned lips,
With weak men You, Lord, level hills,
With killers You make merry saints,
With paupers You do shepherd kings,
We long to see what You will do with us!
Each corner of this human condition,
All mysteries of strength and servitude,
Of lowliness and rumbling renown,
Find final glory in one glorious life,
Our Lord perfecting this limped gait of ours,
Swept up from womb to roman cross and grave,
Through laughter and great sorrows' claws,
He took the depths of us and set them true.
The golden eye's descent in awe,
To watch the swallowed world in black,
Becomes exalted tiger quieting,
The haze. Setting the limit of shadows,
Who will hold it fast? Who will stay its sight?
Who will draw the limit on its awe,
Blunt claws to make of it a watchman?
Surely there descends a greater gaze,
Commanding the deep hidden awe,
Subsuming every cosmic dance,
Transcending every light until it dwells in each.
Now sharing in His death,
To welcome in His life:
The water is far deeper,
Than shallows would so plead,
Behind the meager pool,
Lies weighty tragic sleep,
Truly the old self is entombed,
Much more the new unshackeled then!
When rightly divine love and wit,
Conspire upon fate's turning rings,
To place a call beside the rain,
To hang the clouds and pull the troops,
One after each to face bleak storms,
But whisper of His love and deeds,
So galvanise the soul to prayer,
Which rightly bubbles forth in praise.
Ever in His careful hands we turn,
Where strength meets failing clay,
Slowly every flop He firms,
Restores a charmed asymmetry,
And so redeeming unique saints,
From every walk and tumbled crawl,
All handles, mouths and licks of paint,
He draws out storied gold from dust,
He fashions for Himself an earthly seat,
To pour on out the hope of His great feat.
He took on weakness for His strength,
His fragrance marred with such a stench,
That weak men would His true strength know,
Call bankrupt every effort of their own.
Our numerical nomenclature,
Our open love letter to reason,
A muse, a confidante, a precious gift,
The infinite and divine thread through,
The simple, mundane, and immediate,
Lofty geometry and imminent counts,
The squares that dance within our sight,
Tickle at the foretaste of perfection,
And draw upon a silly smile: five five -
The perfection between the hands.
O the weight now gone by grace,
The heights of simple light of life,
From depths of blindness filled with haste,
The horror and the wretched chains,
More metal bitten day by every cramping day.
Hell's poisen struck at its ver' root,
Cut out with all its cloying rust,
Was not the work of man - no badge
Of stoic dispassion nor hedonistic glee,
But truly God in humble robes - the mockers scorn who purchased me.
The new life born in victory,
What cost and broken tragedy,
Alight with glory burns etern',
The mustard seed of grace but kern',
Which in its sprout puts green to shame,
The flowers stand abashed lame,
Man pulled in his weak mortal seat,
To splendor of immortal feat,
Up to the zoe grande and true,
Our Lord the dazzling firstfruit grew,
The life of God that became light,
To us the hope, the way, our sight!
So glory be and ever be!
To Him the Slain King risen free.
I wonder if we'll look on books when there,
When every lamp is snuffed and all is bright,
When brought beyond unapproachable light,
When pulled into the deepest cosmic care:
Then we will know the One who truly knows,
Perhaps He'll use a book or lengthy tale,
Or tapestries and symphonies, the awe!
Or quiet whispers for which every lan-
guage was devised, but more like honey and,
Resplendent dew, like babbling brooks and velvet sand.
Steeped in unordinary tales for now,
The converging of past on past yet still,
The moment of all history that press-
-es down immediate like all the rolls,
Of deepest lakes when moved from deep at root,
All time will never be the same or was,
Without the crowning scar deep at its breast,
From where the Prince Of Glory died.
The very world hangs nailed upon those nails,
The very time a cloth on such a barb.
The merry death of monotony,
Beside four ordinary walls - the seige,
Of heaven fierce upon the ramparts,
Its truer hidden life blooms fresh again:
A chorus in a thousand accents,
The praise of freemen at their shattered bonds.
A worthy praise drifts ceaseless to the heights,
Good glory to the highest heights!
For He has smote our bonds,
But more, our tongues He loosed,
That we would join the dawn chorus -
Join the whispers of the dusk to praise,
With angels pour out beauty beyond sound.
Unpassing from this age,
Your glory's truer than a memory,
No second death will touch Your name,
Embedded on the minds of thoughtless shrubbery,
How much more at reason's root,
The canvas of Your moving eyes,
The meekness of Your face born out,
On mocking sneers that spurn the greatest love of every world,
Yet You would be undone to turn such sneers to deepest agony,
The kind to rock the soul and ruin but its truest light,
To spare by mercy those You'd take as friends,
To weep as they are made all right.
You hear my earnest plea,
I will ever look to Thee,
For You hear my earnest plea!
You move my heart like nothing else,
All that I am to shudders inexpress:
My grand terror and relief,
My haunting joy and sorrow,
My weakening and might!
O that I may fall so You would rise!
And cascade out the way like silver moon,
For in its rightful place its burns with glory.
Facing all our frailties,
Our strength comes frivolous and spent,
Our minds unbearably slow,
And footing inches from the empty air,
Where shall we turn but to Him still?
Our grounding and severest bet,
Our wager on eternity:
On goodness, peace and hope,
On our strong terror and assured ransom,
On divine reason that mutes the dragon.
Condescension from the highest peak,
The lofty mount that pats the head of distant space,
Transcending all of time and every whisper of decay,
Our Lord from there descends.
And folding every pristine robe,
Firmly placing down eternal jewels,
Collapsing glory into feeble frame,
To sit in dust with us!
You're the colour on a rainy day,
The bismuth lining every drop,
The strength for weary eyes,
So I can rest my heart and finally stop,
In striving and in solitude,
My confident, my friend,
My intercessor, advocate,
Draw me always back to mend.
It's looks so ordinary here,
Contending for the sky to fall,
To open gush and pour on out,
The knowledge of Your name to wretched men,
But here in this still room far from
The bustling street you choose to dwell,
With weak and salvaged vessels - yes,
It is no ordinary thing at all!
Gathering the saints our feet in morning dew,
Awash in echoes 'neath grand beams,
Enrapt with faces stained in glassy light,
Now sternly huddled in wide open rooms,
Like incense wafting ceaseless through,
Piercing Heavens to attentive courts,
And ever this will be our praise:
Our hearts poured out and hope hung up on You and always You.
The chorus of a sold out heart,
In multitudes with adoration,
Joining each to their own part,
In open praise and celebration,
Praise to Him enthroned above,
Praise to Him who swoops below,
Who humbles now Himself to us,
Who takes on every feeble frame,
To hang for us and rise our mighty champion.
The dusk before the truest dawn,
Which proceeds masterfully each day,
This day of grace and hope for all,
That your dear saviour died for you,
Before you even heard His name,
Before you uttered cries aloud,
He'd stepped into a feeble frame,
To hoist the essence of each man,
Up with himself and through the grave,
So that we'd be forever changed.
In every trial I see you there,
My Lord in agony and shame,
At the picture of you lifted up,
Just looking I am cured again,
What news is this, this blessed God,
Submit Himself to pain?
The prince for whom all stars daren't stop,
For whom oceans daren't the same,
For whom all the riches fall unworthy,
Drew near to us, in meekness came.
The shadow of the almighty,
Marches through the deepest depths,
Structures of logic marked with divine elegance,
Imposing what cannot be strangely conceived,
Yet crying out beauty ever louder,
Drowning restless monologues within.
With overdrawn strength, by grace we stand,
Though feeble legs belie, our hope is poorly put in legs,
But better in a cross that marks,
The place of greatest comfort and distress,
That He who gives the wind to strength,
Would breathe one last, yet now!
More fully strength is named in Him, our strength.
Awesome glory too lofty for me,
Unbottled by words or stained glass,
Poured out in stuttered praises forth,
His loving help and foremost mercy,
Draws out my shame and casts it off,
Though closely now it clings when I do fall,
But by his grace we stand again,
We stand again to one day see our faces new like His.
Deeply seated in the folds,
Of The Father's hands and I so bold,
Look to horizons through the fog,
Of time and can't contain my urge to jog,
To hurtle at adventures soon,
Yet they will come as surely as He made me His.
My arms are weak with many gifts,
Undeserving poor and wretched man,
I am! Yet lavish grace on grace uplifts,
My soul though backward thrown askew,
Untwisted each dear day, adrift,
Upon a mercied treble gift:
Rich in company and stature,
Rich in books and little learnings,
Rich in food and all my needs are met,
May I praise you though the times
Are good, yet never cease to turn a rhyme,
When walked through darker clefts again.
Awed and fizzled out I stand,
When I begin to see afresh,
How study of mathematics too can praise,
How good logic with its taxonomy,
Cry out the wonders of the Logos.
My Lord most merciful,
Compassionate and regal,
To the heights outstanding,
To the depths fathomless,
I praise you for You're ever good,
May glory be to You,
To the one who makes sense of it all,
The order and the life,
The goodness and the beauty,
The suffering and the pain,
To the one who makes sense of it all:
Have my praise.
Hardened rain to dash on the concrete slabs,
Tarmac blacked in waves of pouring droplets,
So dreary weren't it drenched in majesty,
This power and great spectacle to see.
An image of His passion,
In the sublimating day,
That buzzes now with every pulse
Of sunlight scattered on the grass,
That rises in its purest dance,
That grows along the ordained rails,
That follows rising flowers in the wind,
That kiss sun and wither in the wake.
Praise the Lord who meets us in the little gathering,
That quiet humble place that drips with earnestness,
The stumbled talk wrapped up in eager adoration,
He upholds the prayer of righteous men as mighty,
He extended the reach of weak and meager hands.
Deafened by the rain,
It pours incessant down in streams,
Like roiling flood dragons bearing silver fangs,
Like great anvils to the feet of gongs,
They rattle and I wish to stand amongst the noise,
Pour out myself amidst this majesty,
For He is Lord and I am ruined,
He holds me as I fall beside the thudding rain.
Oh distant wings upon the lower sky,
I hold my ear up to your distant whine,
The evening rumbled in your song,
In swaying air the deepened line:
Away away to farther field,
Drag dust and soot sojourning,
Come cast beyond the surging sea,
To trembling mounts and valleys vast,
Span skies beneath the setting sun,
Grasp grandeur till your heart humbles,
Away away be swept into an awed applause.
What glory crying from the world,
What depth and height a gift of love,
What wisdom vast unsearchable,
What majesty that seeps into each blade of grass.
Fuller rain makes fresh the air,
Upon the twighlight without care,
The day is up and all the world is fuller,
The night has neatly lined with silver,
The glory of the meeker roar,
That gladens soil and farmer more,
Calling to the resting soul at hand,
Come feel the grace and might of God,
See mighty patterns - understand.
I see the contoured shadows of the sky,
This rolling teal and grey that strikes me with an awe,
The air is cold tonight. Yet He is warm,
All embers of the day are spent beside.
With Him we died and in Him we rise,
Of old no sniff or scent,
Of chains no rust or clank,
Of sin no sting and hades meek and breached,
Oh praise the Living Lord!
Oh praise Him with your lives,
He gives grace to the humble,
And wretched - more grace!
Oh praise the Living Christ!
What a gift to find a friend,
Who's just like you but not the same,
When talk of things flows free as water,
Where you pick each others brains to find the gold,
Why look beside when you can see,
How kind the Lord is to our souls,
To gift to us true brethren and a people that we didn't know.
Hidden in the perfect man,
What glory far too good for me,
To know my God as father now,
To know my God would purchase me,
What glory far too good for me!
That He would nurse my sickness through,
That He would hold me close when I am cold,
What glory far too good for me,
Forgiven when I pain my soul,
Comforted when myself dismay.
A reason to give praise,
As breath and life and glory of the day,
As heights and dips polish character like jade,
As people in their complex way,
In service and in dancing and in melody beautifully made,
As divine beauty, hope and love,
As salvation and redemption - greater love,
These reasons that I have to praise,
I shall take them up with many at their side.
A thinking stool molds careless into dim light room,
It's thinking is not in the wood nor underneath,
Besides the creaking frame but in the flesh that sits,
Above and in the mind behind such wearied eyes,
The burning thoughts that flicker truer than the flames,
That descend from truest light a fearful craft,
A wonderful thing to search out all glories and
Give praise and adoration in an outpouring metre,
So wonderful Your works my Lord and God come friend,
So beautiful the hands that made the ornate jewels,
The crystal figures splendid - precious thinkers of
Their own become a crown of glory for the King
Of Kings who loves their souls indeed to pay in blood.
Rightly take my praises Lord,
Justice demands Your glory be made known,
Enthroned upon my lowly lips admist,
The chorus of the stars and all that is,
So steer my heart along the path,
Lord guide me with your rod and staff,
Make me too an instrument of your peace.
Clawing up the learning curve,
To find a little hope inside the mess,
Of half-way thoughts half-memories,
Of gaps in confidence and skill,
I found a meager cleft within the face,
To take a moment of reprieve and lace,
My breath with a slightest hint of awe,
Of where I've dragged myself to be,
Hold just wait - it isn't yet complete,
Until I acknowledge He -
He who set me up to climb,
Who knows what being me is like,
Far deeper than I know myself,
To Him be the glory for the things I make,
For all the genius and lack there of,
For all these fields and cliffs I find.
The chirping birds frame trees in sound,
Now here we stand when Grace abound,
In these I see a glory woven,
My purchase at the seat of God,
His body taut on wood and shame,
Divisions broken at His name,
I see the thick oil painterly clouds,
It's beauty now to me so rich,
For all is mine for I am His,
Now He is mine, what more is this?
My resting place in mountain halls,
By pillars of deep basalt weeping,
Tears of love a mingled magma,
My hiding place and fortress rock,
O Lord my God my resting place,
My portion now and never gone,
Far further than the crust falls still,
Far further than the mountains fold,
Far further than the valleys and the seas roll up,
You will remain farther than the rocks,
And you have given me rest.
The Lord our shepherd,
Stiller of our hurried bleating,
He set us free from barbs,
And bristles - free from rigid troughs,
To open meadows new and greener,
By crystal waters - our refreshing,
To enter His rest.
By whose stripes are we healed?
To whom have we been delivered?
I am dead to my cruel master,
For glory my redeemer lives!
It is the Christ, Jesus,
By His scars I am made whole,
By His blood I know peace with God,
And I have been delivered to righteousness.
You are the well that never dries,
My thirst is gone yet I can always draw again,
Your spirit is sweeter than honey on my lips,
A refreshment more potent than chilled citrus in the summer heat,
I will ever sing to you for you have lifted my spirit,
And loosed my chains - my hands are light.
Allegiance to the King,
Not earthly but divine,
Become a babe and fell in line,
So forever I can sing.
All glory to the throne,
Preeminent in all ways,
For He alone was slain,
So I am clean and known.
O golden haze ephemeral,
I see you drift by mud slick roots,
Come watch the weary leaves turn bright,
Amber emerald in the gorgeous rays,
Like precious gems and golden drops,
Such beauty and high majesty,
To turn the wilting shrubs to glass,
To temper them like bronze in biting winds,
This golden haze that marks the air,
That causes springly birds to sing.
I found a way to end a month,
Just lie awake until you aren't,
Watch the dusk draw long shadows,
On the walls that deepen into dark,
By now the game is up,
I really wait on Him who holds the clock,
Who sets things in motion as He always has,
The Divine Reason and the Order of Time,
With this the month finds its end,
All things conform to law and pattern,
The night too is orderly in its waking hours,
Turning in when dawn shall rise on morning dew.
A day of praise,
To One far higher than I,
Who stepped down so low,
He took on flesh and tears,
He bore my death,
And crushed my fear.
This gift of giving gifts of clay,
More blessed than receiving such,
Of forming formless things to shapes,
Of finding fun and making ways,
Then to pour it out again for friends,
And turn like glass to image Him,
He always loved to make and share,
And now He gives this gift to us.
This gift of forming things like clay,
To make as we are being made,
Things to see and hear and play,
All to image us to image Him,
For beauty and for seeking fun,
To see the world between our hands,
See too a world granted us within,
Of desires and dreams and future hopes,
Of sights of unmade things to make.
Be lifted high The Highest Love,
The Strongest Justice,
The Most Splendid Mercy,
Your tears are sapphire and lapis,
Your song the thread that hems the cosmos,
Your laugh the fuel of suns,
Be lifted high The Highest Love,
The Deepest Compassion,
The Most Wonderful Counsel.
Sifting through the archives,
What a gift my Lord has laid,
Of fragments of his Glory shining,
In my lap for days and days,
To sit with me and dwell so near,
To mark with me His glory along the way,
On the pages of my life,
As He shows me to obey.
O the sweetness of worship,
Like water to the desert sand,
Sweet honey glowing off the comb,
That fills up your belly with assurance,
*Surely all things are as they should be,*
*Before the throne in spirit and in truth,*
*Surely all things are as they should be,*
*Surrendered at the altar where our Father smiles.*
Exalted like no other above the heavenly beings,
This great reason and utterance that orders all things,
He is Truth.
He is Beauty.
His path alone is straight,
Come you mighty and kiss the Son,
Follow Him and His Strength won't fail though you fall,
For He is a merciful God,
For He is good.
In the Land of the Living,
Where His mercy is close,
The trees take His breath,
The rocks and pools both,
From setting to rising,
His mercy is close.
The melody maker,
Plucking the resonaces from the air,
Laying them out in lines and rows,
Making beautiful praises to the lamb,
Drawing out creation into echoed glory,
Bring forth metal pans and plastered walls,
They too shall hum at melody's call,
In praises to the living God,
Sing praises to the living God.
Yesterday's painting,
Hung up in splendor,
Like molten beauty, steaming off the horizon,
Like distilled glory crying out:
Hosanna! Hosanna!
Beautiful are the lips of the Lord,
Justice and glory drip like honey on His breath,
He utters it and it is so.
For there is one path to wisdom,
Alone in pouring rain and biting frost,
The way the Lord has paved in royal blood,
The mighty of heart tremble at His coming,
His decree is the balm of the meek,
For the Lord remembers His adopted,
He opens the way to wisdom and they shall enter in.
A breath gone in and out,
A breath gone in and out,
This deep and fathomless,
Gift of Life and Grace,
To live it to the full,
Enriched and wrecked by no
Greater love I behold,
The goodness of the day,
Is poured out from but one,
Sole benefactor - Father, Friend.
Lord, Lord you are my hiding place,
Though I busy in the day,
You are truer than the Sun,
I behold your glorious radiance,
The image of your breadth.
I feel so blessed to be full of time,
At such an early age - surely
This life is but a wink - but His Glory
Fills each moment with a hope and breadth,
For redemptive glory this full time is sufficient,
For redemptive glory I know my redeemer in this passing age,
And I am blessed to see the year roll on.
Becoming a friend of time,
A companion to cross far plains,
To trek long hills in metal snakes,
He goes by many names,
But orders chaos all the same,
Faithful Logos, Prince of Peace,
Upon which things rest and constitute,
This mighty time to hold all things together.
I'll see you in the garden,
My rock and hiding place,
My rushing stream to guide the way,
I'll see you in the quiet glade,
I'll see you by the mottled crags,
My song and glory crying out,
My light and spotless righteousness,
I'll see you on the holy mount,
And walk with you to streets of golden glass,
And know no light apart from you.
The pressures of the day,
Wash ashore the bed of time,
And all that's left to say:
Is God is good at every line,
All unfolds as one long play,
Yet we hardly see its steady rhyme,
For the glipse I saw, I'll say:
God is good at every line.
---
**Oxford Interview Reflection**
Hertford 1, 2:50PM
Good times,
Hard times,
Stuck unstuck and stuck,
Writing digitally quick,
Reckoning with questions that elude.
I behold His face, my risen God,
This perfect love that wrecks my soul,
I see it in my brothers' eyes,
Glory upon glory upon glory,
It's majesty that fills up overflowing,
Crying out the praises of the lamb.
Lighting up the stage with praise,
The room is wash in chromatic glows,
For all the praise and flashing lights,
We behold Him there our first delight.
The aroma of Christ has come,
Make haste, make room,
He comes, He comes,
Dressing us with wisdom pearls,
Adorning us with holy tears,
He strikes our hearts for holiness,
He calls our names and future hopes,
He calls us out to greater things,
So I say to my Lord: Beautiful one,
Compassionate and faithful is your name,
You are adorned with glory forever,
Have mercy on me, have mercy.
Sharing music once again,
It's words in hidden alphabet,
Phrases calling out to soul,
And glory for The Highest One,
He distilled beauty into frequencies,
And let's us dance to merry tunes,
And let's us think to gentle jazz,
And let's us praise Him in this meaning,
In these hidden alphabets.
Travel by the street lamps fierce,
Through their white and saffron glows,
Deep into shadows, concrete folds,
Lightly over leaves and pebbles low,
Away away, I walk away,
Through darkened streets and shadows stray,
To stand in light and sing His praise,
With my people here in foreign lands.
Who am I? O Lord,
A sinner in white,
Within, my tumult is as rubble,
To be swept and cleaned,
You have made me at peace with you.
I will declare:
You O Lord have reconciled me to Yourself,
And I know peace.
You've loosed my soul and then my tongue,
You turn to lips and arms, I'm free!
You grow in me a lively song,
You turn to words and dance, I'm free!
For in my wretchedness and need,
I'll see you brighter than the Sun.
Surely man walks a shadow in the day,
And cowers in dark places all the day long,
Yet you have made me a child of light,
And from darkness I am rent,
And to light I live with my Lord free.
Turn in earlier,
Cash out tomorrow,
And see to the day,
In His sight given,
And seek his face,
By His life given.
I'm washed in lighted dark,
The neon signs do mark the sky,
And all the lights do clamour orange,
Above it all: the Pale Moon...
Glorious and pure in light splendid,
And the clamour is clear and rid beneath,
O holy one made known to me in whispers,
Has called to me in brilliant light,
That He alone stands pure and bright,
And all the lights beneath are simply noise and static.
Just a glimpse of Your face,
And I tremble beyond joy,
True love - the wisdom of God in a face,
Upon the dawning sun,
The radiance of the almighty,
Upon my beautiful one,
A special madness I hear,
A consuming hope, jealous as the God it flows from,
To see you in the noonday clear,
And we will be like you then.
Great passion of my soul,
You pluck the strings of my depths,
So my song is more beautiful than my own,
In the night, chaos and obscurity,
Your wisdom commands me,
Through my heart I know instruction,
To dwell on your face, to dwell on your face!
You have my lot, Lord have it all,
My unbelief will not stand long,
For I know my redeemer lives.
O ancient ground of old,
You're sturdier than I can know,
I give you myself to mould,
I trust my faith You'll grow.
Internalising words of praise,
From a king of old,
A mighty man who chased,
The very heart of God I know,
And I will say to my Lord:
You are my Lord, I have no good apart from you.
_Intro_
Come, walk in the rain with me,
Don't you know the Lord is near,
My heart burns within me,
And I am alive.
_Walking_
The colours striking at my soul,
So vibrant in their passing by,
The light transfigured in my eyes,
The splendor on the leaves and grass,
Glorious.
_A praise_
Blessed morning dew,
I lift my eyes to you,
In the rain and storms that brew,
I fix my eyes on you.
Faithful,
You are Faithful,
When I wake you're always there,
When I rest you will remain.
_Walking_
The rain is wide and fills the air,
To silence I am called to walk,
He's with me in the pressing rain,
And wisdom calls for fear of God.
_The Grey Meadow_
Washed in greys and sombre nights,
Great skies above in broken might,
The colours stripped but hardly bleak,
They cry for justice in the rain,
Trees in sackcloth, mourning clouds,
They call for lowly ponderance,
For noble beauty reconciled,
For holiness in open fields.
_Walking_
The bright is caught in puddles thin,
And scattered to the plucking rain,
What grace is this that I can feel,
What it is to be.
_What it is to be_
What it is to be,
That you knit and know me,
Loved me from when you thought of me,
Predestined me for fullness of life,
That I would know what it is to dance,
That I would know what it is to walk,
To see, to smell, to touch, to hear,
To taste your goodness in the rain.
_Outro_
And as I peek at passing time,
I'm tugged to rush in dripping rain,
Yet you remain.
And calm my heart before it burns again,
I know that you will make a way,
For I am walking in the rain with you,
And so I find a delayed train,
What providence you walk me through!
Sovereign Lord,
When I slumber you wake,
Sustaining me when dreariness
Runs rampant in my creaking frame,
And I can rest in no other,
I will make you my refuge,
Glorious Father.
Faithful Father be praised!
You do not whisper to my heart in vain,
But for a cause I'm called,
To proclaim the gospel to the heights,
To mention your goodness to the depths,
To walk with your children between,
By grace we have a new life of purpose,
You do not whisper to our hearts in vain,
Faithful Father be praised!
Wise Cousellor,
Your wisdom does me good,
From my mouth, may it pour,
Make me humble as I should,
Amen.
Given language, rhythm tune,
Given time to dance and praise,
What tools we have to image you,
What gain we have to seek your face,
And woven to each note and hop,
Are calls to devote them yet again.
Finite mind, memory mess,
And trains that ran away,
Out of my grasping hands,
Screeching at my bated breath,
Crosses to the naughts,
I seem to play a game,
Be the fool, demands,
Yet to a draw its brought,
Great mystery divine,
Mercy abundant in
The ways you answer prayer,
With gracious wit you hold the time,
And humble us just as we ask,
And humble us just as we don't.
Governing the flames within the sky,
A gentle wind tugs chords of plasma,
Rocking them to sleep in circles,
Singing elliptic lullabies,
They sleep in fields of black asway,
Comfort at the Logos' refrain.
Why should they fear His voice of reason?
Why should they fear His loving tug?
Midnight crow out open in the day,
Your nightshade feathers shaped and cut,
Redeemed! Obsidian in the morning light,
They glimmer as you sway,
Children of the luminescence,
You and I are clothed in might,
Not of our own,
But known in amber rays,
For darkness was our chains,
Now as gemstones on our skin,
For shadows cannot hide from Him,
He'll clothe us just the same.
A barking dog punctuates the evening,
Textured chords on the flat darkness,
I saw the celestial assembly singing,
In silent praise they hummed last night,
Perhaps I'll see them bright again,
To what's ugly and begrimed lambasting,
To what's true and wholesome testifying,
Lord lift my mind to these heights of glory,
To see you there and return praising.
O' flow, Great River pouring forth,
At dayspring shattered dust beside,
At twilight echoed praise behind,
Fled is thirst, that wretched chain,
Fled my hollow pride and vain-,
Glory, love for drought and rage,
I thirst no more, I thirst no more!
Blue River, Yours are colours myriad,
Yours are truest beauty, full,
In pouring out Yourself on dust,
I thirst no more, I thirst no more!
I try to walk on painful stones beside,
The water's glory bare before my eyes,
Whisper, whisper, why do you speak in rhymes?
I thank the LORD your rhymes find ends in Him,
To Him my ears are clear to Your beauty,
To Him my eyes are clear to Your beauty.
You saw me there within my mother's womb,
Crocheted and fastened strong by grace,
So fearfully the symmetry,
Intent you bore on every pore,
And now He holds me tall my breath no mercy small.
Great Prince of Peace,
Adorned in glory,
Bronzed and steadfast,
Your kingdom claimed in foreign land,
Transcendent Heaven's Lamb,
Adorned in horns and cuts for me,
Tender and worthy,
Your kingdom brought with precious blood.
By your cuts we've found joy,
By your wounds we've been healed,
In the shadow of your cross our chains fall shattered,
Author of life you have gifted it in fullness,
Poured out yourself and I thirst no more,
Help me to pour out myself as I thirst no more.
Glasses fit the cloudy gaze,
And lines are caught on whetstone firm,
I hear the slicing bladesong clear,
The sound of beautiful creation near,
And now the far I too grasp in my sight,
And thank the Lord my eyes discern.
Laying hands,
And I open up my soul to song,
I praise you as I've known for long:
You've gifted me fellowship in my home,
Faithful friends - brethren of my bone,
And you've made a family line your own,
From broken families new life sown.
Beauty from ashes,
An act to which I stand to witness,
For hope is born in no purer flesh,
And new life sprung from more dead things,
Glory is perfected in this blessed gift,
Power in our weakness,
Wisdom in our folly,
And you place a pretty flower in the wake,
It seems to sway in peaceful pastures,
Calling Abba, Father to its place,
For now I hold your presence close,
In beauty and in truth:
The ashes gone.
Come crashing down dear hope of mine,
Not wishful in the slightest sense,
But gifted by the Faithful One,
Of things unfinished,
Things not seen,
Things to dance about and praise,
Goodness past assures the soul,
And goodness now for my rejoicing,
Yet goodness near is shelter from despair,
Umbrella to the stormy day,
Shield to raging flames and darts,
Life to dying oaks and brush,
Come crashing down dear hope of mine,
Not wishful in the slightest sense,
But gifted by the Faithful One,
Of things unfinished,
Things not seen,
Things to dance about and praise.
What a gift it is to see,
To watch the world,
To look with glee,
This beauty bursting before me,
Imposing truth on mind unfurled,
A looking glass to hands unseen,
Assuring me of my Lord's long plea,
To know him and his handiwork,
To see that He's forever good,
To humble eyes and gaze anew,
To look long on Him and not avert.
What good news is this?
That contorts wise eyes,
And lights the strong ablaze in rage,
Calling all to fall humble at the feet of a carpenter,
On a wooden construct not His own,
Yet it is on our construct He was pinned,
One we cast with gold and silver,
One we lusted after with wayward gaze,
One we formed from our ground bones and ashes,
Self destroyers.
Vile murderes.
Yet He hangs for us,
What good news is this?
He would do so for me?
He would do so for you?
To beauty He hangs ugly,
To strength He hangs weak,
To wisdom He dies a foolish king,
No... in Him such things are perfected.
Broken body,
Outpoured blood,
Sustenance for a feeble soul,
Salvation for a hungry people,
Great rising joy for all the world,
Praise You for You did not spare,
A hand or leg but gave it all,
Your body crushed,
My soul redeemed.
Tapping out some plans,
And You, Lord, establish steps beneath,
My feet not inches from your sight,
But bearing love upon my toes,
Full force beyond my comprehension.
Your hand spans the cosmos,
Saviour into the depths of history,
Leaving freed captives in the waking trail,
What love is this?
That does not relent,
That does not discriminate,
That bears pain as it's crown,
And self sacrifice like a bejewelled sceptre.
Under Your sky,
And the night returns faithful,
Silent like a fatherly might,
Sweeping up the earth in a hug,
Shoring up like the cosmic father likes to do,
My day is done,
My future secure.
Holy anointed one,
Be seated in your right place,
Below my collar,
Beneath my ribs and nestled in my innermost being,
Deep above all in my heart,
You are worthy,
For you did not despise death,
But bore the serpent's fangs as you crushed it once and for all,
You alone can lay down Your life and pick it up again,
So you are worthy, Son of David.
Rightly ordered,
And you snap everything back into place,
Molding and crafting your body,
Giving us a little more space,
And your breath flows in to open lungs.
I'm jelly down to my marrow,
All tired out from proclaiming,
Praising the father for the banished sorrow,
For he came and he conquered all that there ever was,
Now when death comes, sin doesn't sting tomorrow,
Free at last by the bread and blood,
And I just want to serve him more than I ever was.
Our redeemer lives,
Bronzed and holding out His hands,
To grasp creation and all twisted powers,
He holds them by their throats,
Their pulses through His mangled palms,
They dare not blink apart His commands,
They only twitch for final good,
Yet we shall walk in faithful steps,
For we cannot see such lofty things,
Only glancing touches in the mortal dust,
And know a loving father's mighty wings,
Carry us through painful rust,
That seems to eat and leave void in wake,
But we shall fear and love the one who redeems the soul.
Even darkness is as light to Him,
And shaded creeks like open sea,
Transcendent to the highest place,
And still He sits enthroned to see...
Adopted sons and daughters run,
Through darkest shade and blazing rays,
For darkness is as light to Him,
And He knows our days.
Praise the author of salvation,
The poet of all days,
He doesn't leave a story unfinished,
Not even halfway done He says,
And even when the story throws us,
And the twisting turns don't go our ways,
He's working for our good for sure,
As we are His and He is ours.
Holy and blameless,
Wholly good and different,
Righteous and ever loving,
Everlasting brother and friend,
You conquered sinful disposition,
Leaving us bright, pure and righteous again
In your sight you leave me ever praising,
Praising your true adoption,
Freeing us from filthiest dens.
Stormy day,
Solemn on the raining wings of mourning clouds,
They chase the wind like rolling flood dragons,
Blotting out the sky with their sublime scales,
And a small being walks,
Awestruck underneath the mourning clouds,
That's a pretty sober spectacle, Dad.
The next generation,
Tumbles with joy,
Round about,
Here and there,
Into footballs and lessons,
Into paint pots and pencils,
Into the arms of their fathers' Lord,
The faithful one watching over the family,
And placing them on the shoulders of mighty men of God,
So tumble with joy into his goodness,
So tumble with joy into his beautiful precepts,
They will do you good, little ones.
Calmest vibrations,
Translate the thoughts from one to another,
And a listening ear opens hearts so soon,
For many like to talk and talk,
But never do they hear in truth,
And still even talkers hide away,
From their deepest want to be known and seen.
For a glimpse of meaning in the midnight fog,
Alludes the talker who knows no ear to hear,
And runs from He who calls to listen.
Hear ye,
Hear ye,
He seeks an open ear,
To hear thy King,
To hear thy fellow creature here below,
And we shall see a glimpse of Him in the midnight fog,
As we use these ears He gave us so.
Mirrors in the muddy grass,
And your glory permeates the land,
The light hangs like pearls -
Drooping off the edges of leaves,
They seem burdened under the weight,
Yet hold it with pristine elegance,
And their brilliance warms the day,
Even on the ground you place glistening gems,
Catching wanding sunlight and storing it,
Resplendent on their gleaming heads,
The light falls gently now,
And the shadows seem brighter,
All the while your beauty triumphs in the dimming days.
Hard pressed,
For poems don't seem to flow from a tap,
But grow even whilst I nap,
For such good gifts only fall from His lap,
Into mine and all thoughts and rhymes,
Are a blessing divine,
And I'm left grateful,
That poems came again,
That we carved them out together.
The art of play,
Sits deep in the core of friendly relations,
And warms the heart,
And heats the cheeks,
Lining lips with rows of pearly teeth,
And a maker stands to watch and nods,
Good, good, very good,
Snug as peas in a pod,
Crafted to be just as they are in moments like these.
Funny faces mark the days,
And childhood months slip into years,
Hazy times too full of cheers,
And loudest laughs,
To compact in rambling remembrances.
Praise him for these gracious days,
Where time is but a word, He holds them in his heart,
And holds them still.
Well established,
Thank you that you cast our roots down deep,
Watered our soil,
And sowed us into the arms of mighty brothers and sisters,
You're so good to us,
And we're rich in friends,
Thank you that you have trained our branches in service of this family,
Praise your holy name,
Father of my many brothers and sisters,
Upholder of these gracious days,
And former of bonds that warm my hearth aflame.
A gift from Grace himself,
Is music to my ears,
The string that resounds under my scurrying fingers,
The hum that calls out,
From the depths of my chest,
From the praise in my soul,
So I walk and sit in sounds around,
And he is glorified.
This blessed bread,
That feeds the soul,
And utters glory to the depths of renewed man,
And such weighty blood,
That washes dirtied feet,
And quenches the thirst of walking friends,
Praise God for this holy remembrance and restorer of these tensile bonds,
As surely as he sets the sun, shall he knit us closer and wash us clean.
Huddle around dear friends,
It's time to commit our lives to the Lord,
To smell, walk and talk like living sacrifices,
A holy and pleasing aroma to our God - don't you forget,
And it is He who washes us clean and covers us in his perfume,
A perfume that was wrung out of him like water from a rag,
All for love and to his eternal glory,
Amen.
Fellowship that never ends,
Ebbing and flowing beyond,
Where darkness is untrue,
Where all is new,
Set right to glorify,
The worthy risen one,
His in fields abundant,
And there life overflows in fields abundant.
Rigid rhythms breed discipline,
And teach me to pause and reflect,
Through rolling words in native tongue,
That speak of the mundane and significant,
And offer praises to the living one,
Who's paid for my heart and shall have my mind and body too.
Open spaces,
Make me small and surround me,
Place me in my right place to see...
The world and all its wonders grand,
That unfold out to drench man in the sublime,
And much clicks into wondrous place,
When largest scales do make you see,
Your world and Lord in truer might to mightless men.
Who is worthy?
The one who drunk deep from the cup in all its fullness.
Who is worthy?
The conqueror of sin and death.
Who is worthy?
The source of all and almighty one.
Praise Him for he did not just shoulder God's wrath for one,
But every sin was poured on him,
Such weighty things demand much more than sweating blood and pierced hands, though he bore those too,
Such weighty things bring the mind to its knees in awe,
He is worthy indeed.
The ashes seem to roll and clump together,
Skidding into mounds and skating into rounded bobbles in the dust,
From the dust again comes beauty,
And a new mind is given,
The image reprinted,
Free from chains to live in chains,
Chains that warm and pull out of danger,
Chains that bend bones into their right place,
Chains that jingles like bells and guide the hands to craft the admirable,
How good are chains like these?
To clothe the dust in righteousness undeserved,
And hold us close to the guiding shepherd,
His back strong and steadfast,
His staff unwavering and kind,
And His voice like the charming wind.
Leveled ground,
He makes the very land sturdy and straight,
Drenching and molding it with grace,
We can trust the rock that He placed,
The rejected cornerstone,
That smooths out and shatters walls,
That we can stomp on and feel His integrity,
That we can fall on and know He won't go away,
That we can kneel on and know His security and faithfulness,
His grace paves the narrow way and calls us to cast down our shackles of sin,
For they cling to our wrists in bits and we must cast them down with determined shakes.
Chaining stars,
Seem to string together in succession,
Forming a deep formation spanning the firmament,
They line the recesses of the local cosmic clusters like valiant halls,
And burn in concentrated power,
King's over domains bestowed,
Beyond them the invisible one presides,
Appreciating the beauty of his work still,
Let us join Him.
A clacking tactile snap resounds,
And wooden bricks are stacked on high,
And laughter guides these leaning towers.
A little tap wacks at the loose-looking blocks,
All to find a delightful tug,
That leaves the tower toppling not.
Praise God for joyous, blood-tied delight,
With placed people to share good game,
And to hear of hard days and light stories too.
Blood poisoned,
And a chained brain,
And mind predicted: broken,
Little hope for a little boy,
Who's blood didn't quite match up...
For a happy dispatch to the land of the breathing,
Then the mind-mender stepped in,
And He's been mending my mind every since,
Till I'm like His son,
So I continue to think,
And glorify this mind-mender of mine,
With thoughts maths and rhymes.
Rend to Him what doesn't shine,
But beats and hums and gasps in awe,
Send to him for living wine,
In exchange for breathing gifts,
Gifts He bought with more than time,
More than pity and more than advice,
But pulsing flesh for flesh, and many signs,
Goodness flows from such a Lord,
And slavery yields eternal life,
For righteous ways make glad the heart,
And humming things shall gasp with joy,
Free at last to truly live,
Free at last to know the truth,
Know him like the friend He is,
Know him as the great I AM.
Close your eyes,
And think of deepest night,
Seeping through the lidded gaze,
Dark and deathly,
Harrowing and still,
Repulsive even to the twisted mind,
Deeper than the deepest fright,
Such darkness is there chained forever,
Never breaching the light of life,
Never marring lovely times,
He won't allow such reckless spite,
Not in its fullness,
Not in its blights,
For grace abounds in groaning days,
For mercy falls as monsoons rage,
And all is washed in patient gaze,
He will not watch in passive might,
He gives a chance to broken kites,
To fly again.
Reasonable God,
You love to think and make,
You love to think of all creation and of dust to which you gave,
A mind to think, and a heart to love,
Love your ways and ponder your wisdom,
Consider your goodness and the work of your hands,
Consider your nature and the beautiful land,
Praise be to God the greatest thinker and king,
Praise be to God who's jealous and righteous for our thoughts.
Merry faces,
Line these stairs and call out from beneath the dust of time,
They remind us of His faithfulness and the unity He's sown,
Of the places He's taken us,
Of the people He's made us,
Thank you Lord for standing with this house and making it yours,
Help us to follow You daily and love one another as You have loved us,
Amen.
Fellowship with guys far older than I,
A celebration of two fathers,
Filled with laughter,
Warm food on the table after,
Old tunes blast loudly overhead,
But the conversation hits the mind-master,
The master's mind that is,
The master's mind that guides boys and men to his side,
He's the great one,
And conversation settles on his ways and wisdom.
Clak, clink, kungf,
And the chains are sprawled down,
Down on the ground,
Shattered and defeated,
Heavy and repeated,
-ly they're broken daily,
All for a wonderful streak,
BC to AD a billion million combo,
That's neat.
How amazing,
Is this chain shaking saviour,
Blood stained maker,
Beautiful creator,
And he will continue tomorrow.
Hush my child,
There will be time,
To play before we set off,
I know the hands and command the face,
The time won't slip out of my grasp,
There will be time, my dear,
So don't worry little warrior of mine,
I'll tell you when there's time no more,
And where and when its best to step,
When sleepy legs are bound to bend,
And the playing is unfinished still.
Light a fire,
And see the embers stoked to flame,
Orange tongues - a multitude of crackling sayings,
Hope and warmth for another night,
To turn the cold away,
In the morn' I'll clear the ashes,
And see you there as clear as day,
Thank you for Hope,
And days of yearning witness in the fray,
Of life and turning hands,
As minutes pass and hours slow.
Tumbledown Town,
The land of the free,
Free from regulations,
Free from the fees,
So no need to share,
Just come on down,
To the Tumbledown Town where rats abound,
Free from the rules,
Free from the law,
So take a look at the door,
And leave.
It's not very good here,
Life abounds in the arms of the lawgiver.
Jesus, I wish to ask you why you are so beautiful,
Yet such a question in its simplest form,
Is answered by a hefty pondering,
Are not all beautiful things so, because they seem a smidge like you?
Just a smidge like you:
And flowers take the breath away,
And smiles melt the heart,
And sunsets turn the hazy day to arresting clarity.
You are beautiful as brute fact,
Wholly good and just,
Wholly caring and amusing,
Wholly love and truth.
Wholly beautiful.
Oxygen debt is a peculiar thing,
A big small grace from God,
That's hard to place as significant or insignificant...
That is until you run,
For when you run he allows you to do a borrowing of his breath,
And trade the very life in our lifeblood for transient lactic acid,
Oh how it burns the breath and stings the chest,
Yet it will pass away so soon.
In the selfsame way:
He gives us life for transient suffering,
Ever passing, and forever unequal to the grace,
So that we can run the blessed race,
And reach him there where he sits with life and treasure forevermore.
Awash in the flow,
He's calmed my voice down low,
The spirit decending in a perfectly measured overflow,
Great buckets of uncountable blessings in an ordered row,
All wisdom does he know,
And wish to share with us?
He's about,
He's sowing in His priests,
Sowing and blowing to the feast,
Sowing and blowing yeast into the bread,
And raising people from the dead,
Speaking the unsaid with truth and love.
Its all for the great show,
All the people and the world will know,
That He's coming with life and death in tow,
The clouds His sandals,
The heavens His cloak,
And it will be glorious.
Dark nights and bright days,
Coalesce in a brilliant cycle,
And He steps in.
Shadows are as light to him,
Even in the depths, He won't let me dwell alone,
On the highest heights He sits and points me further up.
At the core of my soul He tabernacles,
And so I call abba Father,
Through dark nights and bright days.
Life chained in death,
Shall not be held long,
For He knows chains like no other.
The chains of Sheol held him there,
And He bore on himself the cold metal of the unrighteous,
And became sin to break mine.
Praise be to God the highest,
Great Creator,
Maker of this space and time,
Mover of the tiny mountains,
Which stoke the deepest feels sublime,
Dancer and great choreographer,
Weaving walks with crawls and rhymes,
Speaker of great truth and matters,
So greatly that His Word's alive,
Wonder, wonder, filled with laughter,
Sit alone in times of quiet,
Gaze upon the author's work,
Take the time to praise and chime:
Wonder, wonder, filled with laughter,
Praise the one who came and died,
Wonder, wonder, filled with laughter,
Fill the earth with weighty cries,
Wonder, wonder, filled with laughter,
Praise the one who lives and shines.
True love isn't blind or silly,
It's calm and dedicated,
Loving truth and depending,
Not isolated and vacant,
But real and tolerating,
Forgiving and gracious,
Steady still in hard places,
By the power of God we know such love.
Beside a quiet tree he reads,
Sitting in the weeping branches enshrouded,
They seem to slowly tumble down,
He holds the keys to life and death.
Wisdom and power sit open in front of him,
Their pages are splayed out and pale brown as if stained by tea,
Before him they flow momentary from his existence not preceding,
He is Himself the perfect communication of the invisible one.
As he drenches the surroundings with his presence,
It becomes simple that he is the purpose and substance of existence,
Such notions of power and wisdom do not reach his depths,
He holds both galaxies and hearts of men in his eyes.
In the downpour,
I'm sitting and waiting,
Contemplative,
Stages to stages,
And I rest in your places.
In the furious rain and the roaring metal,
In the blaring music,
And the subtle whisper of people,
You are still there Lord,
Unleashed from the temple.
In transcendent, unhurried purpose,
You walk and you wrestle,
With weak men and strong men,
For broken is the perfect vessel,
So that I may get a surplus of grace and tussle,
Tussle with truth,
Tussle with wisdom,
Tussle with those around me in love,
That they may know you too,
Maybe place a little stone in their shoe.
On the road,
We’re heading to that singing city again,
Looking to honour his name,
To be a people that love to praise,
For me and my house we will follow the Lord.
He’s been gracious to us,
Patient with us,
A blessing to us,
A saviour for us,
And He’s not done loving on us.
It’s a new year for Him to say:
That He still has plans for me,
That He’s here to stay,
And it’s so good to be by His side.
Oh what’s that,
It seems I’ve got maths in my mind,
It speaks of a great design,
The language of all creation,
He speaks the particles into motion,
His mind behind the oceans,
And every star and every orbit,
To the cool rush from a lovely sorbet.
Oh what’s that,
It seems I’ve got maths in my mind,
As I sit and try to rhyme,
He sits in the depths outside of time,
Thinking every fold of reality before even a sign,
Calculating the very sublime,
And placing his word in the flesh of mankind.
It was the greatest outpouring,
Far more than when He poured numbers into the chaos,
Far more than when He drenched the land in purpose,
Far more than when He carved his image into the dust,
All of it into meek flesh,
To shatter the chains of death.
Your people are a warm lamp for my soul,
Illuminating the hidden,
And bringing out my colours,
They were made for me and I for them,
Vital organs to keep each other toasty,
And wonderfully purposeful and alive.
Knit me in and wrap me up,
Melt my heart for their service,
Grow me in my love for them,
Set my eyes on the goal,
Helping me to run in love and zeal,
To forget myself and remember them.
For I am not greater than my master that I should refrain from washing feet.
I am undone,
An unravelled ball of yarn,
In moments of silence you put my heart on like a glove,
Flowing by in a torrent,
Of sorrow and love.
To my left and to my right,
They curse God and die,
Out of pain,
Out of spite,
They whisper and scream it,
Cursing and deem it,
Justice.
Your heart burns against injustice, O Lord,
Your gaze detests the darkness,
The stark darkness of their blindness,
You, my Lord, are a jealous God,
How long will your children sit in graveyards of shattered pottery?
I am undone,
An unravelled ball of yarn,
Purify my heart.
I am undone,
An unwound fishing line,
Wash away my filth in crimson blood,
And cast me out into the waters.
Underneath the radiant stars,
An embassy from a land afar,
Pulses like a heart,
A great house of the lord - an upstart.
A rebellion brews,
Against the unflesh and bloodless,
Against the darkness that spews,
Against which their Lord has won.
So they shall pulse,
And beat and drum,
To stir up a great chorus,
And sing of mercy and justice.
Their radiance is blinding,
For their light is a holy light,
The very light which broke their binding,
The very Son of Man with highpriestly might.
So sing and dance,
And dance some more,
Their saviour's won,
He can be yours.
Your melody walks swiftly over the horizon,
Dancing playfully under the waves,
Treading firmly through the glaring eyes of hurricanes.
It crawls, walks and scuttles among the humble things,
And soars above the lofty heights,
Reverberating through valleys and rocking the earthen cradle.
It flows through the sky waters,
Permeating the three heavens,
And ploughing into the depths of sheol.
It is boundless,
And sans time it glided other the formless,
The beautiful symphony of your presence is now within us.
Wide eyed and stupefied,
I wonder and quake,
I revel and mumble,
Awed in his wake.
He's glorious, you see,
Good and oh so gracious,
He's precious to me,
His house is oh so spacious.
So revel and quake,
Come with me, sit still,
And honour his name,
He is worthy of praise.
The wax drips,
Lining its heated brow,
Dripping from the edge of its gaze,
Snaking round its neck,
And pooling on it's collar.
A crown of radiance,
Sits gloriously above.
It grows shorter day by day,
Dropping down, and down,
Then down some more,
Till it falls among the lowly lights,
They had been in darkness,
Long extinguished.
Then it comes,
A new light to those chained in death.
It descendes deeper still,
A glowing pool in its wake,
Dull and dead,
And darkness seems to hide its face,
And the storms still.
In the dead of night,
A quiet ember slips,
Igniting these lowly lights again,
In a cloud of flame and praise abundant,
A light for all who know their plight.
Again a crown of radiance sits,
Gloriously above and higher still.
The raging fire of Summer licks the earth,
Leaving famine in its wake.
Autumn plummets and rolls into winter,
Fleeting and dull.
Winter stands poised before it crumbles,
A false show of strength.
Spring wars against itself,
Life chained in death,
A fragment of a rejected paradise.
All the while toil and trouble,
Mark the face of the earthen clock.
They like to dance you see,
Chasing the wind in vainglory and disregard,
Theirs are tornados and wild fires.
But I know of an ancient secret,
One told to many,
And observed by few.
It tells of a greater toil:
One for that which is eternal.
To love his statutes,
And to toil for his people.
O what it is to see your beauty in this fallen land.
You bathe my face in sunlight and vaporise the dirt on my skin.
You have made me a Prince and lay down thick golden carpets on my path.
You place a fire in my heart to bear the coldness.
You have placed in me a wellspring of living waters.
Your world is beautiful,
All creation awaits its resurrection.