What of tears?
What of feelings of deep emotion?
What of the thoughts that seem to interfere
When one encounters the One to Whom we pray?
Don’t let them get in the way.
What is a poor body to do,
But quake before the awesome Presence?
What better use of tears
But to purify the vessel.
Allow the thoughts to bathe therein,
Outside the city
And realms of sin,
In the arms
Of One Who loves you
Through and through.
O Infant King benign
I offer You the face
Of Mother Mary
As she gazed upon You
That very first time
Beholding long
Your holy countenance.
Her eyes, drinking in her Babe,
Her King, her Priest,
Her Son Divine,
Wept tears of joy,
And wonder,
In silent adoration,
Pondering comprehension.
She smiled in inward exultation.
You will never forget
Her look of love
As she gazed upon
Him, Who no earthly eye
Had seen,
A treasure for the world,
In her care,
To be wrapped
In lowly swaddling clothes
You, O Christ Child,
In Your humanity divine.
Sounds of yesterday play hard against my soul.
Voices shouting through the years,
Silenced as rain upon the shoal.
Sounds of yesterday play hard against my soul
As pillowed sobs still take their toll.
Nothing so hard to bear as tears.
Sounds of yesterday play hard against my soul
Voices shouting through the years.
©2012 Joann Nelander
I just want to rest here,
In a place beyond tears.
When You see me,
In my life’s blood,
You will not pass me by.
Shepherd,
That you are,
Lift me to Your shoulder.
Carry me
The rest of the way.
I consent to Your ministries,
Trust in Your mercies.
As Your strong arms
Enfold me.
I am comfort,
Through and through,
For I will to be
One with You,
And You have given me
My heart’s desire.
You behold my inner groaning.
You grieve within me.
Low pitched moaning
Stir my depths,
Awaiting promised vindication.
No eye, but Yours,
Beholds the river of unspent tears,
Hidden from the world of Men.
Prayer without ceasing
Issues forth
For Your ears only.
Words without sound
Shape my inner being
Fashioning a future full of bliss.
Hope of hallowed blessing,
Worthy of a king,
Yet reserved for but a slave.
O hidden well of sorrow
Dare always hope.
Here comes in triumph and thanksgiving,
The dawn of Day Spring
And Morning Star.
Not yet,
But always present.
In Faith, believing.
The Time of the Bridegroom
Coming to claim His Bride,
Robed now in wedding garments,
Washed resplendent
By crystalline waters.
Purified eyes of soul’s desire,
Embrace the eternal Son as His Beloved.
Well of sorrow,
House of Clay,
Delight now appearing
Open unto Eternity
The door of unending Joy
Hearts beating now as One.
Thy Kingdom come.
© 2011 Joann Nelander
If all the world turn away from Christ, I pray I will still be there at His feet washing them with my tears, drying them with my hair.
Be Holy! 