To have the soul of a poet Lord,
To have one that feels to the depths.
The gaping wide hole in my soul Lord
The sadness and longing must be for Thee.
It is the wind that all things are fleeting.
The color that only created eye can see
It burns me to the core
in the comings and goings,
The busyness of the world of men
with its money and music and material.
And yet I know
to consume, to fill, to buy,
to store up, to hoard, to excite, to distract,
to pleasure, to power, to wealth, to honour.
All these futile attempts
To pour earthly water into an everlasting well.
The well within where I am to find Thee
Where Thou will give me living water to drink.
Where the poetry of Thy religion
Will romanticize my soul
Like a lover lavishes his bride
With a delight, with a purity
With an awe for her beauty
despite her brokenness.
To be looked upon with the look
The look of utter enrapture
Where one swallows, but forgets to breathe
So swept up
A forgetfulness of self.
All the earth a sacramental Lord
A song of utter rhapsody
With its swaying sighs of the seasons
Its colorful change of character
Its frost and its fire.
To feel, Lord, the element of Thy being
In the heartbeat of seasonal sensation
The touch of Thy many facets
The kiss of the cold and warm wind,
Thy many embraces
For in the whirlwind of weather Thou reveal intricacies of Thy nature.
Calling to us,
‘further up and further in’
to the sublime
If we have the quiet to listen.
A heart vulnerable enough to answer the call.
For we must drop our swords and shields
No more armoring up
We must out of the cave crawl
A buffered being in the totality of turning inward.
We begin to face outward
So we can take the lantern questing deep within
who hast accomplished all that we have done.
So we may grip Thy ground,
Feel the earth planted
Our feet sending forth roots.
And we drop our sorrowing, sickened selves at the door
Where our freedom has been won.
And we swim in the ocean of
Thy life beat.
Once more our sacredness restored.