What is love

"Love is the greatest thing," the poet said;
But I looked back at him and shook my head.
"Love?" I questioned.   "What is love?" I asked.
He looked at me.   His look seemed quite perplexed.

"Why, love," he answered, "Is the heart of man,
Seeking what he most desires where'er he can;
And caring for this thing beyond himself,
Regardless of its state, its poverty or health."

"Such love is what can make a life complete,
Fulfilment of the very heart of man.
Without it there is nothing.   I repeat, 
Love is enough.  It ends as it began."

I doubted and remained still unconvinced;
His argument had no effect on me.
"It seems," I answered, "That you are entranced
And blinded to the things you will not see."

"For love," I said, "is selfish in its aims,
Seeking only what it can possess;
And making too its own egotist claims
On what it says it loves.   This is distress!"

"Not so," the artist then claimed in reply.
The sage added his own answer as well.
"Love only tries to tell us of the why,
The how and what; love really can be hell."

And he expanded on this thought awhile:
"There's hurt in love, rejection, bitter pain,
That can be borne with gentleness and smile,
Knowing at the last it will bring gain."


"The love that dies upon the cross is such;
It carries in itself another's wound.
I warrant that this love will gain so much
As in the world has never yet been found."

I left and spent my time in deepest thought,
Pondering their replies, amazed at what they said;
For I had learned of love which souls had bought
Restoring man to God where Love had bled.


And gazing at an image of the crucified,
I wept for love of the Divine here nailed.
I knew it was for me that He had died,
To pay my debts and gain what God entailed.


This is the only Love.   All others fade and die.
I wish to love like this, to give my life as well.
To share this Love with all I meet, is my reply,
Sharing with them the road away from hell.

The long lost garden

Remembering the beauty of a long lost garden,
Set between rivers and surrounded by waters;
Breezes to soften and sun's heat to harden
The land which He recovered and bought us.

Paradise lost and now rediscovered,
A garden where fruit trees were once forbidden;
An edict broken, a covenant severed,
But now a Lord to walk with, no longer hidden.

Clouds black the sky, the temple veil's broken;
Skull hill bears crosses where the dead will die.
Here is beginning's end which so long was spoken -
Now all creation waits patient for reply.

A stone is moved; the garden blooms once more.
The sun is risen, the glorious day has dawned.
Lost paradise regained now, Heaven is ours again.
Man's salvation paid for and we are re-born.

There is a sound...

There is a sound, a sound of gentleness,
From breathy flute and gently plucked harp strings;
There is a voice, a voice of peacefulness
Which, in the silence of my heart, now sings.

There is a touch, a healing touch I sense
Upon my heart, within my soul as well;
A hand divine, forgiving all my sins
And reaching out to guide me from my hell.

There is a cross, of punishment and shame,
The shame is mine, not His; He dies for me.
He hangs in anguish as He bears my blame
And with His blood spilt here, He's paid my fee.

There is a prayer within my silent heart,
A prayer of Hope, a song of praise and love;
In that same silence I have found my part,
As now He leads me to my home above.

Crucifixion

Good Friday

A wooden cross leads on to death.

There is no height, nor depth

Past which it will not reach;

For it will breach the very doors of death

Itself, and lead on to eternal life.

The eternal God cries out Himself

In manhood’s self gained agony.

There is no loss of life in death –

Not in this agonising final breath

Which He is breathing out for me.

This cross will bring us in the end

To a moment of eternity

Wherein the world, and all it is, will die.

Die? Yes! But then He’ll rise again

And reach divine hands out to me.

God grant that as I stand and watch

I’ll feel the hurt and know the pain.

Grant, in this moment, I might catch

A glimpse of where His suffering leads:

May I, through His death, new life gain.

Crucifixion

Crucifixion.

The day is dark and darker grows the night,

For night has come before the day has passed;

A mother dares to look on such a sight,

Her hanging, nailed son has breathed His last.

In front of her the tree is lonely, flanked

By others of the same, where they are ranked

Bearing the bodies of two condemned thieves.

They rant against their fate and taunt the Son.

One speaks in torment but there’s one believes

An innocent hangs here. What has He done?

[Into a timeless warp of space there hangs

Eternity and all eternal Love.

Of sorrow gone the solid silence sings

Casting torn veils to the heavens above.

He bleeds and dies, we weep and hopeless wait,

And wonder if this cross can be the gate?]

The soldiers wile away the weary wait

Beneath the cross by casting careless dice.

Their pay they risk but what about His fate?

They care not; let the judgement passed suffice.

Divide His clothes to augment their meagre pay,

But not the seamless robe – they let that stay.

To speed their death (for day soon breathes its last)

One checks and breaks the legs of the two thieves

But the blessed spirit now has sighed and passed;

Spear pierces flesh; the observing guard believes!

Reach down this battered body from the cross;

Reach down the bruised and rough torn flesh of God;

Reach down the Christ and, Mother, hold your loss:

And yet she knows this moment is for good.

Now all mankind breathless awaits first light,

The Easter sunrise banishing death’s dark night!

[Buried is the moment and the death

Of this expression of eternal love;

The sorrowing mother holds her final breath

And weeps her doloured tears to heaven above.

Now all must wait and waiting, all endure –

To wait and hope Love’s resurrection’s sure!]