Blood Blossomed
Far away in ancient Jerusalem
Stood a garden, long, long ago
Home to giant oaks and figs
And plants and shrubs of every kind.
On every season, from time to time
Merrily they would burst into bloom
Filling the air with fragrance sweet
And fuelling the hearts with joy and cheer.
Amid the riot of flashing shades
Where Poppies and Pansies held their heads
In a corner, there a Lily stood,
Sans scent and sans grandeur.
A poor loner never once noticed
Nor skilled to steal the show,
Those, brilliant in shade and shape
With contempt openly quipped
‘It's such a shame
She grows among us
With such pallid shade
And nothing to rave',
‘Lilies are such lazy lot
Giving only seasonal blooms'
Rang aloud their haughty comments
Rashly blurted out and blunt
The poor Lily wilted in shame
Wishing she had never been born.
Late that evening, through the garden
Into the newly dug up grave
A band of people came with lights
Bearing someone cut and scathed.
With blood oozing, dropp by drop
From wounds, left by piercing nails
The body, carefully wrapped in linen
Was the body of Jesus - Son of God
The one who bore the sins of the world
And courted the most accursed of deaths.
The body embalmed was laid inside
And sealed with a giant block of stone
Soldiers posted to guard the tomb
And every vigil so prudently kept.
Early by dawn, three days hence
While it was still very dark
From inside the tomb had come
Rumbling sounds and a blinding light.
Flowers en masse blinked their eyes
Beheld a man, gently walking out
The wounds still fresh on his palm
And the linen that swaddled, lying behind.
As they watched this queer sight
In awful amazement, they did see
A host of Lilies, white as snow
Far more beautiful than any of them
Bowing their heads in reverential glee
And singing Hosanna to the Lord of Life.
All the flora in silent shock
Sighted from whence the Lilies came
They sprang unforeseen in those spots
Where drops of blood from his body fell
Then onwards, without fail
April sees the grandeur and grace,
Of snowy lilies - those delicate blooms
Sprouting suddenly from the crust of the Earth
Joggling their heads in whiffing breeze,
And giving delight to all who behold.
poem by Valsa George
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River Lilies
Saw a boy three lilies white,
Lilies in the river,
Half heart-open to the light,
Full of golden arrows bright,
Each a silver quiver.
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
Said the boy, “I’ll pluck you there,
Lilies in the river!”
Said the lilies, “If you dare
You shall drown, or homeward fare
Dripping and a-shiver!”
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
Wilful still the boy would clasp
Lilies in the river;
Tumbled in ere he could grasp,
Scrambled out with puff and gasp,
Plucked no lilies ever.
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Sonnet Of Motherhood X
I walked among the flowers that bend their heads
Low to the earth and back again to light,
Hearing them prattle of their blue and white—
Violet and jasmine in the bordered beds.
They whispered them of every wing that weds
388ഊFragrance to fragrance in the dusky night;
And, seeing them, I knew another sight,
And saw them bowing where all Beauty spreads.
I touched each petal with the sunbeams flaked—
Roses and pansies of the early morn,
Lilies that lilted of the moon’s light grace,
And left them hushed when all my joy was slaked;
For in the garden of my soul, God-born,
Each flower made beauty for my child’s soft face.
poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
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In the spirit of Rumi - 45 - The Lily
In the gardens of the world
as the world and seasons turn,
in a thousand thousand gardens,
in a million fields and valleys,
the lilies grow.
the lilies of the field – proud
yet modest in the grass, proud
that Jesus spoke of them;
lilies of the valley – proud
yet modest as their scent
sings and calls, amongst all
the heady scents of nature,
the scent so close
to the wild cyclamen
in the hillside grass;
the regal lily, sharing with the rose
the Caliph’s and the Sultan’s gardens,
listening all their lives as lilies do
to the plashing fountain in the fragrant courtyard;
laughing quietly as the kohl-eyed beauties
round the Caliph in the evening garden
vie behind their silken veils
with perfumes mixed and strange..
each day, one lily in the bed
reaches its perfection, glows,
exults in its day of unique status,
as every lily has its day..
What honour then, can God bestow
upon his creatures, so magnificent,
so thunderous in their praise of Him
for those with ears to hear?
His most precious gift, which even men
rarely earn with all a lifetime serving Him –
a glimpse of His perfection..
And the regal lily, full of the humility
of the lily, Mary’s flower,
bows its slender neck
yields all its beauty, bowing low,
folds its curled petals, as Mary
submitting to the will of God;
and we, walking in the garden,
glance and say ‘Behold,
that lily which, but yesterday, was perfect,
is fading now already…’ and in our heart
passes, is discarded, the evening chill
of knowing ourselves to be that lily..
pride, humility, the gifted glimpse of God’s perfection,
barely acknowledged as they pass..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Blossoms
Flowers lovely, marvellous gift from God,
They deck the Earth, they give delight,
They drape the dales and adorn the hills,
They feast the eyes and fill the hearts.
My life blooms when plants are abloom,
Each morn, I gaze at flowers in myriad hues,
That adorn the garden my mother keeps,
Her prized possession next to her kids.
Through the arch window, Roses are in sight,
Chrysanthemums and Daisies, they grow in rows,
The white Lilies and the purple Tulips,
They seem to delight in their contrast shades.
In summer I watch the butterflies flitting around,
Also the honey bees that come to steal the pollen from the blooms,
Small birds that dart into twining boughs,
Build nests in the secret hide of bushy trees.
In rain, I watch the flutter of silvery leaves,
Washed anew and sparkling in radiant glow,
After rain, I count the droplets trapped within,
That struggle to escape from the chamber of hollow blooms.
In breeze, I see the flowers dancing in cheer,
And swing their heads in synchronizing motion,
These sights fill me with indescribable joy,
And set my heart racing in glee.
But when a withering flower comes in view,
It aches my heart and makes me grieve,
Then a question crops within my mind,
Why should a flower wilt and wither so fast.
Before I let the question fly from me
A consoling thought fleets across my brain
Transient it be, it delights all,
Spreads its fragrance all around,
Serves nectar to humming birds and bees,
And decks the Earth in brilliant charm.
What more-needed to fulfill a life,
Than be a source of delight to many!
poem by Valsa George
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The Babies of Walloon
He was lengthsman on the railway, and his station scarce deserved
That “pre-eminence in sorrow” of the Majesty he served,
But as dear to him and precious were the gifts reclaimed so soon—
Were the workman’s little daughters who were buried near Walloon.
Speak their names in tones that linger, just as though you held them dear;
There are eyes to which the mention of those names will bring a tear.
Little Kate and Bridget, straying in an autumn afternoon,
Were attracted by the lilies in the water of Walloon.
All is dark to us. The angels sing perhaps in Paradise
Of the younger sister’s danger, and the elder’s sacrifice;
But the facts were hidden from us, when the soft light from the moon
Glistened on the water-lilies o’er the Babies at Walloon.
Ah! the children love the lilies, while we elders are inclined
To the flowers that have poison for the body and the mind.
Better for the “strongly human” to have done with life as soon,
Better perish for a lily like the Babies of Walloon.
For they gather flowers early on the river far away,
Where the everlasting lilies keep their purity for aye,
And while summer brings our lilies to the run and the lagoon
May our children keep the legend of the Babies of Walloon.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Lily and the Bee
I Looked upon the lilies
When the morning sun was low,
And the sun shone through a lily
With a softened honey glow.
A spot was in the lily
That moved incessantly,
And when I looked into the cup
I saw a morning bee.
“Consider the lilies!”
But, it occurs to me,
Does any one consider
The lily and the bee?
The lily stands for beauty,
Use, purity, and trust,
It does a four-fold duty,
As all good mortals must.
Its whiteness is to teach us,
Its faith to set us free,
Its beauty is to cheer us,
And its wealth is for the bee.
“Consider the lilies!”
But, it occurs to me,
Does any one consider
The lily and the bee?
poem by Henry Lawson
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You want a lily
You want a lily
And you plead with me
'Give me my lily back.'
I went to see
A friend last night and on her mantelshelf
I saw some lilies,
Image of myself,
And most unlike your dream of purity.
They had been small green lilies, never white
For man's delight
In their most blissful hours.
But now the flowers
Had shrivelled and instead
Shone spikes of seeds,
Burned spikes of seeds,
Burned red
As love and death and fierce futurity.
There's this much of the lily left in me.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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The Tomb Is Empty
Face it friend, the tomb is empty; death couldn’t hold Christ, you see,
Although He died for you and me, He’s now on the Throne of Eternity.
The stone, covering where Christ lay, by God’s hand, was rolled away.
In that tomb where Christ was laid, only Christ’s grave clothes stayed,
There He stood, in a body Glorified, Jesus Christ, who bled and died.
Mary was the first one to that tomb, bearing a heart filled with gloom,
She assumed the body was taken, but she would be gladly mistaken,
For, with her heavy heart that day, she would soon hear an angel say,
You will not find Christ Jesus dead, for He rose just like He had said.
She left to tell others not to grieve, for The Lord, they too would see.
Now Mary filled with a joyful heart, from an empty tomb would depart,
Filled with wonder she ran to those, other disciples, to say Christ rose.
Peter began running fast ahead; as they had thought Christ was dead,
Now he ran with much anticipation, enthused by a brand new situation,
Looking inside he just saw clothes, for from the grave Christ had rose.
But all hearts stayed, like the tomb, until Christ entered into that room,
Showing them His hands and side, proving He was The One who died.
Christ would stay for forty days, filling their hearts with joy and praise,
Filing them with His Hope and victory, that will last through all eternity,
Where they shall remain forevermore, with their Savior, Christ our Lord.
(Copyright ©04/2007)
He's mine boasted the grave in victory
‘He's mine' boasted the grave in victory
'He is dead so now he belongs to me'
Mary and Martha gazed on in despair
Wishing that Jesus had been with them there
Then Martha met Jesus coming to Bethany
to share in their deep grief and agony
Then she told Mary who came to see
and fell at His feet weeping helplessly
'Lord if only you had been on the scene
Then Lazarus' death would never have been'
Four days he had lain in Death's sepulchre
far beyond the reach of any earthly care
'Believe in the Resurrection' He said
For He had the power to raise the dead
'Yes I believe that You're the Son of God'
'Whatever You ask will be granted Lord'
'Where have you laid him? ' sadly Jesus sighed
'Come and see, Lord, ' both the women replied.
Seeing their helplessness at the graveside
Deep tears of sorrow the Son of God cried
They opened the tomb, rolled the stone away
Then they heard Jesus in a loud voice say
'Lazarus come out' and amazingly they saw
That he who had been dead was dead no more
'Remove the grave clothing and let him go'
and each semblance of death was removed so
There His power over death Jesus did show
in that town of Bethany long ago
************
I was dead and in sins sepulchre lay
And then I heard the voice of Jesus say
'Roy come forth from the dead', I came to Him
and stood at the cross wrapped in all my sin
He washed me in His blood so pure and clean
I was made the cleanest I'd ever been
Sins linen bands He removed from my soul
and I stood before Him restored and whole
Come witness the miracle taken place
Here stands a poor sinner saved by His grace
For the Holy Spirit has quickened me
And the power of Jesus has set me free
So, grave no longer gloat in victory
You've been conquered by the King of Glory
Death no longer has any hold on me
now that my Lord Jesus has set me free
Written after reading John 11: 17-44
Mockery
I met my love a-weeping,
Weeping in the night-tide pale;
Her head among the lily bloom,
Weeping by an empty tomb—
An unshut tomb.
I gently stroked her golden hair
That shone so
With the moon-glow
In the sad-sweet air.
Like playful breezes from the south
Came soft smile-dimples to her mouth;
And when again she seemed to weep
I kissed her wild-wide eyes to sleep;
While there beyond the lily bloom
I saw the watching, waiting tomb.
I left my love a-sleeping,
Sleeping in the cypress vale;
Smiling sadly in the gloom;
Sleeping in the fastened tomb—
The tight-shut tomb.
How round the tomb the moving mists
Will twirl so
When the wind blows,
That the ivy twists
And shudders round the cold grey stone:
A serpent on a crumbling throne.
While I, upon a nearby mound
Hear salt tears soaking in the ground;
But there, when’er the lilies bloom,
I hear low laughter in the tomb.
poem by Leon Gellert
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The ghost Bereft
THE poor ghost came through the wind and rain
And passed down the old dear road again.
Thin cowered the hedges, the tall trees swayed
Like little children that shrank afraid.
The wind was wild and the night was late
When the poor ghost came to the garden gate;
Dank were the flower-beds, heavy and wet,
The weeds stood up where the rose was set.
The wind was angry, the rain beat sore
When the poor ghost came to its own house-door.
'And shall I find her a-weeping still
To think how alone I lie and chill?
'Or shall I find her happy and warm
With her dear head laid on a new love's arm?
'Or shall I find she has learned to pine
For another's love, and not for mine?
'Whatever chance, I have this to my store,
She is mine, my own, for evermore!'
So the poor ghost came through the wind and rain
Till it reached the square bright window pane.
'Oh! what is here in the room so bright?
Roses and love, and a hid delight?
'What lurks in the silence that fills the room?
A cypress wreath from a dead man's tomb?
'What sleeps? What wakes? And oh! can it be
Her heart that is breaking--and not for me?'
Then the poor ghost looked through the window pane,
Though all the glass was wrinkled with rain.
'Oh, there is light, at the feet and head
Twelve tall tapers about the bed.
'Oh, there are flowers, white flowers and rare,
But not the garland a bride may wear.
'Jasmine white and a white white rose,
But its scent is gone where the lost dream goes.
'Straight lilies laid on the strait white bier--
But the room is empty--she is not here!
'Her body lies here, deserted, cold;
And the body that loved it creeps in the mould.
'Was there ever an hour when my Love, set free,
Would not have hastened and come to me?
'Can the soul that loved mine long ago
Be hence and away, and I not know?
'Oh, then God's judgment is on me sore,
For I have lost her for evermore!'
And the poor ghost fared through the wind and rain
To its own appointed place again.
But up in Heaven, where memories cease
Because the blessed have won to peace,
One pale saint shivered, and closer wound
The shining raiment that wrapped her round.
'Oh, fair is Heaven, and glad am I,
Yet I fain would remember the days gone by.
'The past is veiled, and I may not know,
But I think there was sorrow, long ago;
'The sun of Heaven is warm and bright,
But I think there is rain on the earth to-night.
'O Christ, because of Thine own sore pain
Help all poor souls in the wind and rain.'
poem by Edith Nesbit
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It Is Finished
“It is finished” as Christ was done, were the words of God’s Own Son.
It was finished and some knew that Christ had died for me and you.
He was born the man Jesus Christ, for He was to be God’s Sacrifice.
Jesus was the name given Him as He’d save His people from their sin.
Christ was the name of God’s Son, as He was The Lord’s Anointed One.
Thinking they were done with Him, the people only added to their sin.
But Christ would not be denied, even though they pierced His side.
They had Him then sealed in a tomb, which only added to their doom.
In the ground as the scripture said, for three days amongst the dead.
But The Lord God was not done, for the grave could not hold His Son.
On the third day to much surprise, The Lord from the tomb would rise.
The stone of the tomb was rolled away, for He was not there to stay.
For the temple that He did raise, was His body to The Father’s praise.
And Jesus did just what He said, as He raised his body from the dead.
He was dead, but is now alive, and He is seated at His Father’s side.
This is the Gospel of Jesus Christ, that for us He became a sacrifice.
On the cross He bore the sins of all to redeem man from Adam’s fall.
Christ tasted death for you and me, so we could live through eternity.
Believe that for you Christ died and you my friend will be justified.
And confess your Lord is Jesus Christ and you will have Eternal Life.
(Copyright ©10/2004)
Alone
THE lilies clustered fair and tall;
I stood outside the garden wall;
I saw her light robe glimmering through
The fragrant evening's dusk and dew.
She stopped above the lilies pale;
Up the clear east the moon did sail;
I saw her bend her lovely head
O'er her rich roses blushing red.
Her slender hand the flowers caressed,
Her touch the unconscious blossoms blessed;
The rose against her perfumed palm
Leaned its soft cheek in blissful calm.
I would have given my soul to be
That rose she touched so tenderly!
I stood alone, outside the gate,
And knew that life was desolate.
poem by Celia Thaxter
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Country Song
`Lily of the Valley (Convalaria Majalis, fam. Lilliaceae). Grows wild in N. England. Commonly cultivated. Flowers in May. Berries red when ripe. Leaves particularly poisonous because three constituents depress the heart, like Foxglove.'
What are the constituents that depress the heart?
the scent of lilies in dark green silences under trees
milkweed and ragwort and sunshine in hedges
small flowers picked amongst trees when it's raining
A year ago
You planted lilies in the valley of my mind
There were lilies at the bottom of my garden
And ferrys at the bottom of my street
Now
I sit here in sunlight with the smell of wild garlic
Trying to tape record the sound of windflowers and
celandines
Wondering What are the three constituents that depress the heart Without you here in the country?
poem by Adrian Henri
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Sacrament Hymn
ON a fair Sabbath day, when His banquet is spread,
It is pleasant to feast with my Lord:
His stewards stand robed at the foot and the head
Of the soul-filling, life-giving board.
All the guests here had burthens; but by the King's grant
We left them behind when we came;
The burthen of wealth and the burthen of want,
And even the burthen of shame.
And oh, when we take them again at the gate,
Though still we must bear them awhile,
Much smaller they'll seem in the lane that grows strait,
And much lighter to lift at the stile.
For that which is in us is life to the heart,
Is dew to the soles of the feet,
Fresh strength to the loins, giving ease from their smart,
Warmth in frost, and a breeze in the heat.
No feast where the belly alone hath its fill,—
He gives me His body and blood;
The blood and the body (I'll think of it still)
Of my Lord, which is Christ, which is God.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Her Face And Brow
Ah, help me! but her face and brow
Are lovelier than lilies are
Beneath the light of moon and star
That smile as they are smiling now--
White lilies in a pallid swoon
Of sweetest white beneath the moon--
White lilies, in a flood of bright
Pure lucidness of liquid light
Cascading down some plenilune,
When all the azure overhead
Blooms like a dazzling daisy-bed.--
So luminous her face and brow,
The luster of their glory, shed
In memory, even, blinds me now.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Verses For Alfeo Faggi's Stations Of The Cross
I
HERE Pilate's Court is:
None may clatter nor call
Where the Wolf giving suck
To the Twins glares on all
'Strip Him and scourge Him
Till flesh shows the blood,
And afterwards nail Him
On cross of wood.'
O Lord
Silence in us the condemning word!
II
Heaven witnesseth, but only in the heart
Is any aid:
'They know not what they do,' and then on Him
The Cross is laid
The Cross that's wide and long enough to bear
His flesh and bone:
A spectacle unto the crowded way,
The Man goes on.
The Father's will
May we know also, and may we fulfil!
III
Beneath the load
The knees quail;
The heart pants,
The joints fail;
Almost the bones break;
He faints, his breath being loss;
He sinks beneath the Cross!
May we
Be mindful of this road to Calvary!
IV
Jesus His Mother meets:
She looks on Him and sees
The Saviour in Her Son:
The Angel's word comes back:
Within her heart she says,
'Unto me let this be done!'
Still is she full of grace.
By us, too, be it won
The grace that brings us revelation!
V
'If He should die upon the road
That were a turn of ill:
'Tis fixed the Crucifixion be
Upon that skull-shaped hill.
Ho, man who looks with pity on
The Man we take to death
Bear you the Cross I order it
Until He wins back breath.'
We take
Our hearts being moved, the Cross up for Thy sake!
VI
Down to her face His face He bends:
The helper she, the heartner:
His image in her cloth He leaves;
He leaves it, too, to all like her
Who serve within a little room,
But run to help outside the door,
Who mend and brighten needed things:
He leaves it to good hearts, the Poor!
May we, too, wait,
Like her, and help, and be compassionate!
VII
The Spirit is willing aye,
But weak the flesh put on;
Deadly the Cross's weight;
He stumbles on a stone,
And lies upon the road,
Seeing His Body's blood.
May we
Forget not in these times that agony!
VIII
Heavy the Cross is:
He drags beneath its beam,
Yet, Women of Jerusalem,
Weep not for Him:
Weep for your children, rather,
For that they cannot see
The true Son of David,
The Saviour, shown ye.
O Lord,
Also to us say the revealing word!
IX
The skull-shaped hill is near:
The earth and heaven are bare
Of light, and sight, and sound;
He falls upon the ground,
Knowing that journey's end
Without one to befriend.
O Lord
Bring us to Life according to Thy word!
X
'Wouldst have me share this cloth,
Dividing it with sword?
Nay, fellow, we will keep it whole,
But hearken to my word:
Behind the Cross the dice
We'll throw; who wins will get
What's high enough in price
To pay a tavern debt.'
The vesture that makes one with Thee our soul,
May we keep whole!
XI
'This thong, I know, will last;
Draw out the arm and make it fast;
Through hand and board with strength
Drive the nail of mickle length.
Now, King of the Jews, in the sun,
Gape, for our work is done.'
God send
That our labours have no evil end!
XII
The birds are flying home,
Now darkened is the sky,
And He hath given up
With that great bitter cry
The ghost, and on the Cross
(His Mother stays by it),
The title rightly His,
KING is writ.
May we draw near
Considering in our hearts what Man is here!
XIII
Though pitiful it is to see
The wounds, the broken Body,
(The Body of Him that was
As fair as lily of the grass!)
Though the brow with thorns is riven,
And a spear through the side is driven,
It was all for our healing done,
Mother, by thy Son!
May we
This Body in its glory come to see!
XIV
Now in the tomb is laid
Who had neither house nor hall,
Who in the wide world walked,
And talked with one and all;
Who told the sparrow's worth,
The lily's praises said,
Who kept wakeful in the garden
Now in the tomb is laid.
His Spirit still doth move
On a new way of love!
L'ENVOI
Prince, by thine own darkened hour,
Live within me, heart and brain;
Let my hands not slip the rein!
Ah, how long ago the hour
Since a comrade rode with me:
Now, a moment, let me see
Thyself, lonely in the dark,
Perfect, without wound nor mark!
poem by Padraic Colum
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A Calendar of Sonnets: July
Some flowers are withered and some joys have died;
The garden reeks with an East Indian scent
From beds where gillyflowers stand weak and spent;
The white heat pales the skies from side to side;
But in still lakes and rivers, cool, content,
Like starry blooms on a new firmament,
White lilies float and regally abide.
In vain the cruel skies their hot rays shed;
The lily does not feel their brazen glare.
In vain the pallid clouds refuse to share
Their dews, the lily feels no thirst, no dread.
Unharmed she lifts her queenly face and head;
She drinks of living waters and keeps fair.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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His Body And Blood
I thank God for His grace and love, and for Christ’s Body and Blood,
His Body that was God’s Sacrifice, Jesus’ Body that paid sin’s price,
For Christ’s Blood, that was spilled, as The Father above, had willed,
For our Lord’s death at Calvary, so that believers could live Eternally.
It is through the very Blood of Christ, that sinners can have New Life,
From the Body, prepared for Him, redeeming souls from all their sin,
For The Lord had sent His Only Son, to be Redemption for everyone,
And all we must do is to believe, and God’s Salvation we will receive.
Today an empty grave now shows, though He died, Christ has arose,
The same power will be given to us, who, have come to Christ Jesus,
Though we are still on the earth, we receive God’s Spirit by New Birth,
Promised by our Lord to all men, when in Christ, they are Born Again.
Born of God, by The Spirit above, when we’re cleansed by His Blood,
Forgiven of all our sin and shame, all through the Power of His Name,
We are now the children of God, to walk anew upon the earth we trod,
To no longer be a part of the night, but now, to be The Savior’s Light.
This, all because God loved us first, even, when we were at our worst,
And His love was for all sinners lost, so our Lord employed the cross,
Crucifying Christ the Spotless Lamb, to pay sin’s price for every man,
This is His New Covenant of Blood, provided to us all by God’s Love.
Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. John (Chapter 20)
It was the day one of the week;
When dawn broke, Mary Magdalene
Came early to the tomb, though dark
And saw the stone large, set aside!
She hurried to Simon Peter,
And other one, whom Jesus loved,
And said, ‘The Lord has been taken.
We don’t know where they have put Him.’
So, Peter with the other one,
Both ran towards the tomb at once;
The other disciple reached first,
But did not go into the tomb.
He bent down, saw the burial clothes!
Then Peter went into the tomb and saw
And saw the burial clothes lie there;
The cloth that covered Jesus’ head
Lay rolled up in a separate place.
The other disciple went in
And saw, believed the state of things;
For, they didn’t know the scripture say:
‘He had to rise from dead, third day! ’
The two disciples returned home.
But Mary stayed outside the tomb;
Bending over the tomb, she wept;
She saw two angels in white there:
One at the head, one at the feet,
Where Jesus’ body had been laid.
They asked, ‘Woman, why do you weep?
She said, ‘They’ve taken the Lord away!
I don’t know where they have laid Him.’
At as she said, she turned around,
Saw Jesus but didn’t recognize.
Jesus asked her, ‘Woman, why weep?
Whom are you searching for right here? ’
She thought it was the gardener.
She asked him, ’Sir, please tell me where
You’ve laid Jesus and I’ll take Him! ’
Then Jesus called to her, ‘Mary!
She said in Hebrew, ‘Rabbouni! ’
Then Jesus said, ‘Stop holding to me;
I’ve not ascended to Father.
But go and tell my brothers all,
I’m going to my Father, God! ’
Then Mary Magdalene went back,
Told all disciples, all she saw.
While disciples stayed with doors locked,
For fear of Jews and evening came:
Then, Jesus stood in their ’midst, said,
‘Peace be with you, peace be with you!
As Father sent me, I send you.’
He breathed on them and said to them,
‘Receive the Holy Spirit now!
Whose sins you forgive, are forgiv’n,
Whose sins you retain, are retained.’
Thomas wasn’t there when Jesus came;
The others told, ‘We’ve seen the Lord.’
He said, ‘Unless I see the mark
Of nails in hands and side, and put
My finger into them, I’ll not
Believe in whatever you say.’
When Thomas was with disciples,
A week later, again inside,
Then Jesus came, though doors were locked,
And said to them, ‘Peace be with you! ’
He told Thomas, ‘Put your finger
Into my hands, into my side;
Don’t be unbelieving, Believe! ’
Then Thomas said, ‘My Lord, My God! ’
Then Jesus asked, ‘Do you believe
Because you have all seen me now?
Bless’d are those who haven’t, yet, believe! ’
Then Jesus did many more signs,
In presence of his disciples.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-27-2007
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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