One summer eve in Galilee
I stood before my open door;
To me it seemed just one more night--
Like all the others gone before.
Someone would come and, passing by,
Would hear the tinkling of the bells,
Would see the garish harlot's robe
And painted eyes beneath my veil.
Someone, a man like all the rest--
It did not matter much to me--
A nobleman, Samaritan,
A Roman or a Pharisee,
Someone would pause and with one glance
Strip me again of maiden pride,
And leaving, later, never know
The shame and shattered dreams I hide.
O, he would think me very gay;
He would not see my hollow heart
Nor hear me curse him for his pay.
T was then I saw a band of men
Approaching down the narrow road;
There should be one among that crowd
Who wants the favors I bestow.
Kind eyes met mine, and with one look,
He saw what others could not see;
He saw the hunger of my soul,
My loneliness and misery.
I only know that since that day
I live to walk along with Him.
His look of love has changed my life;
I need not sell my love again.
Tonight He sups at Simon's house__
All day the dusty paths we roamed;
But, still he waits, unwashed, unkissed;
Small courtesies no one has shown.
My love for Him! It rolls and swells
Till from His side I cannot stay;
I'll wash His feet with tears of love
And with my hair wipe them away.
I was just trying to remember the past
trying to remember the good people
and the bad people,
that i came across on my way,
i want you to know
that you are among the good people
that left a good trace in my life,
once again i just want to say thank you
for passing through my life,
is so short but is wonderful
i want you here forever.
Beloved, lovely roses: gift of God and lover’s flower,
Spread your colored petals and cradle tender showers.
While admiring the blossoms with their beauty to behold,
Ought we not to know the Tender of such lovely garden groves?
For He lovingly and thoughtfully wields His pruning shears
To cut away the stems of old for fuller future years.
He cultivates and feeds them. He attends them as a Father
Looking daily to their needs; so faithfully He waters.
From the dawn of morning dew until the setting sun arrays
Caring always for His own until that great appointed day…
When the Gardener comes to claim each one the earth held as its own.
He gently picks it at its peak and for His pleasure takes it home.
As God did one glorious morning, when the Perfect Rose had bloomed.
He rolled away the stone and met with Mary at the tomb.
There the sweetest Rose of Sharon rose that we die not alone.
But be gathered for a garden grove, surrounding heavens throne.
Wave a sea softened
and a pain and a tenderness
throw dreams in fascination
of the blue.
And let shave the waves of
Your eternity , oh, weigh
oh,weigh a coast of years.
Carry far in azure, spiral
with bulging little abdomens,
flutter with mahagony pinions
and already in vain expect you
to stop the scales harbours
with hot flames for You are
Far away, far away ,far away,
heart and frank await the
hymn of June.
All sea sisters are dressed in
embroidered of kiss of
In the morning hunts them
fishermen and revive with
breath of their man’s hands.
In the evening girls wash
their black tunics,
in their blue hearts,
their feet white ,who cadge
The night is squeezed enigma
predatory like a bat pecking
of scarlet fig.
Sea sisters, sea sisters,
remember His steps
which go through you noiselessly,
and ou swing like
hold in His fingers Herod,
Pilate washes his hands,
in Yours heirs
and they bristled like winter
icicles bristles of innoncent blood .
There at Golgotha
hearing terrible cry,
blood gushes like
wounded river disappear
like Easter roses,
in weeds of flushed
to open way of
Who is He?
Do you heard
His name ?
He is Messiah,
Like little sheeps,
clouds of candy floss,
they welcome festivaly.
Barefooted are feet
of lovely swarthy steps
of the sun, came to bow,
before You , Creator.
The sea throws his
magnificent silver flesh,
blue like heavently lace,
to swallow all stars
pretty like uncreated
like an apple of not
The True Meaning of Easter!
The true meaning of
the Easter story,
Is God’s Son came down
to Earth from glory.
Jesus really does
love you and me.
He was born to die
that you might be free.
For 33 years, he lived
among sinful men.
Then one day was to be
an atonement for our sin.
He who was born of the
virgin Mary’s womb.
Was to one day rise again
from an empty tomb.
So many people today have
gotten into a bad habit,
of replacing Jesus
with the bunny rabbit.
So please reach out to others
and let them know,
Of the lover and redeemer
of their soul.
The true meaning of Easter
must forever be said.
Of God’s son who died,
but arose from the dead!
By Jim Pemberton
I wonder what the people thought
Who did not know the prisoner's name;
So many men had staggered by
In public solitude and shame,
What was He more than other men
Who'd walked outside the walls to die,
And those with tears who followed Him--
Do not most dead leave some who cry?
I wonder what the children thought,
Who just a few short days before
Had waved palm branches in the street,
Crying, "Hosanna, to the Lord!"
Why was the kindest man they knew,
Who understood their ways and needs,
Bearing a cross through Jerusalem
Like those who did unrighteous deeds.
I wonder what the soldiers thought
Who rudely mocked a silent king;
How many flogged and tortured so
Had never spoken anything?
Was only one of all who stood
On guard for Rome to watch Him die
Able to say with contrite heart,
"This is God's Son; He did not lie."
I wonder what the women thought,
The ones who would not hide in fear
But followed even to the cross
To watch him die through veils of tears.
Did they not know that He could take
Their dreams safely through death with Him
And on the third day rise again
Triumphant over death and sin.
I wonder what we would have thought
In our self-righteous ignorance;
What role would you or I have played,
If we had known such circumstance?
Would I have been a Pharisee,
Or just a stranger passing by,
Herod, Pilate, a Roman guard,
Or a Mary on the day Christ died?
He hated his posting here;
Rome had sent him here as punishment;
He was sure of that;
These people were a stubborn lot;
He hated them most of all;
Then he met the prisoner.
He was supposed to be some kind of king.
Pilate had interviewed this man;
Now the other guards were mocking him;
They fashioned a crown of thorns for His head;
They forced it upon him;
Blood came pouring down;
Yet the king didn't utter a sound.
The guards stripped the king;
They placed on him a purple robe;
The mockery was intense;
Yet this king was different in some way;
He didn't utter a sound.
Then they began to beat the king;
The centurion simply watched;
This was no ordinary man;
The man simply offered them his back;
Then the centurion heard the man pray;
The man was forgiving his captors!
Pilate had ordered the man to be crucified;
So they led the figure out;
He was now beaten and battered;
Could He even carry the cross;
The centurion wished it was all over;
This prisoner didn't deserve any of this.
The centurion made another man carry the cross;
Soon they topped the hill;
Here they stripped the prisoner;
They laid Him on the cross;
As they drove the nails;
The centurion heard Him pray;
He was forgiving them for killing Him!
The centurion had heard of this prisoner;
He now remembered Him well;
The prisoner claimed to be the Son of God;
He had performed many miracles;
The centurion wished to see one now;
He wished the man would come down from the cross!
The sky around them began to darken;
The centurion watched the man on the cross;
The man looked at the centurion;
"I love you and forgive you", written in His eyes;
The centurion's heart was breaking inside;
The man on the cross breathed His last.
The earth rattled as an earthquake struck;
Tombs opened and dead men walked;
The centurion was oblivious to it all;
He seen only the dead man on the cross;
His knew now within his heart;
He had crucified the Son of God.
The Blood of Jesus saved my soul
The Blood of Jesus
Made me whole.
The Blood of Jesus is
The means by which
I have become truly Rich.
I speak not of mere material things
But the Hope of Glory which it brings.
As we think of His Blood,
Let us not forget the Man,
Nor fail to realize that He has
A Master Plan.
For us He has made the Ultimate Sacrifice,
And now, it is only fair for us to give him
There really is no doubt about it,
He is in control,
And He also has the power
To make you whole.
So won’t you seek him out
He is sure to set your life
On the upward way.
The love of God what can I say
It's there for all to see
It was love that sent his only son
To die for you and me.
There is no other love like this
That He should die for man
Before the foundations of the earth
It was salvations plan.
This amazing love from God to man
Is summed up like this for me
Jesus Christ him crucified
At the place called Calvary.
The Galilean sun smiled down
Upon the dusty little town
And lingered o'er one humble spot,
A peasant's home and modest shop.
Long shafts of light fell 'cross the door
To lay bright carpets on the floor
Where children played in perfect peace
About the shop. Their joy increased
Each time they caught a glimpse of Him,
The carpenter who worked within.
His face was gentle, eyes were kind;
And as He worked, He did not mind
Their ceaseless chatter, endless play
Nor did He find them in His way.
Their laughter rippled round the room;
They scattered sawdust with a broom.
The woodchips falling at His feet
Became for them a fishing fleet
Or beds and chairs for little dolls,
A manger or a cattle stall.
Surrounded by the commonplace;
And yet, uncommon was the grace
With which He faced each daily task
As if all Heav'n lay in His grasp.
A carpenter He was by trade;
The wood responded, unafraid.
Beneath His hands each piece was formed
Into an object to perform
Some deed of usefulness or skill,
The needs of men to fitly fill.
Precise He was in all His craft
From oxen yoke to shepherd's staff
To couches for a nobleman;
He was a careful artisan.
Each part was polished, sanded, ground;
No painful splinters could be found
To pierce the flesh of those who bought
The items fashioned in His ship.
There wood was sacrificed for man
Beneath its own Creator's hands.
Does it seem strange that He would die,
Suspended between earth and sky,
Upon two rugged beams of wood,
This carpenter whose work was good?