As Jesus left He promised One Who’d hold us to the end
Our Comforter in life and death, a wild, flaming wind
He gives the church a dogged strength, imbuing us with might
To be a lamp upon the Hill, a bright and shining light
We ride upon His gracious storm, baptising Satan’s race
Victorious through blood and death, in resurrected grace
He ministers in flesh and blood, in bread and bitter wine
In Jesus’ Word, preserved for us, in water’s grace consigned
By grace we’re saved, by grace we love, by grace we marshal forth
In Jesus Christ our Risen Lamb we find our holy worth
We’re wooed, adored, and held aloft, His mercy’s greatest feat
We love because He loved us first, we rest in works complete
And so we live, and so we die, awaiting His return
When all the world is bathed in light, when Darkness is reversed



Within the blackness of the night His body lies at rest
Alone within His catacomb, amidst the quiet chill
His skin is pale and bled of life, no air’s within His chest
He lies in state, forsook by God, within the lonely hill
She weeps within the waning night, alone before the morn
When death is at its blackest tide and hope’s forever lost
But when the pitch is at its peak the dawn is at its bourn
And when despair is at its end there’s light to melt the frost
A ray is cast upon the tomb; the stone is split and rolled
And death is turned upon its head, defeated by the Cross
The Lion stands within His How and strides upon His Wold
Victorious in life and death, in laughter, pain, and loss
He comes to save His enemies with grace and love and death
In love He’s raised in human blood, in human life and breath


She lays her palms before the feet of Christ, with Balaam’s kin
“How blessed is the One who comes in Yahweh’s holy truth!” …
“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, I’ve longed to gather you
Like baby chicks beneath their mother’s safe and loving wings!” …
A widow tore her house apart to find the missing coin
A shepherd left his flock behind to find the screaming lamb
The Father sprinted to the son who lived among the damned
And pleaded with his eldest heir to enter and rejoice
The Savior sat among the sheep and offered bread and wine
His body broken for her sins, His blood spent for her life
They nailed Him to the cursed Tree, the Shepherd crucified
The Light of Heaven winking out, forsaken, judged, and tried
In darkness lay His broken frame, alone within the tomb
His rotting carcass stretched inside the cold of Heaven’s Womb


Before the feast, a fast is walked, beyond the font is drought
She wonders through the wilderness in deserts dead and dry
A deluge comes of sand and sun, her mind is filled with doubt
She stumbles in her ageless trek, her voice a moaning cry
She mourns her life, she loathes the pain, she feels she soon must die
Forsaken far beyond the camp, beyond the Promised Land
She floats upon a world of wrath below the warring skies
She aches beneath the weight of sin, a mite upon the sand
He walks with her within the waste, a sympathising hand
The Lamb prepared for blood and tears – on whom the Dove descends
The Victor o’er the Devil’s wiles, her Holy Supplicant
He brings her through the arid flood, her Savior and her Friend
Her ark, He shelters from the storm, her Covenantal Groom,
Her feast beyond the empty fast, her water and her food


She’s come to see the Savior born, from every tongue and race
From hills along the country sides to halls of learned lords
His light’s revealed for all to see, a revelated grace
His hope proclaimed for sheep and dogs, a kind and humble Word
She sees the Dove descend upon the Savior’s dripping head
Her Prince of Peace, the Son of God, in whom the Father’s pleased
She drinks the wine of Power’s touch, and eats His body’s bread
Divinity exposed in flesh invites her to the Feast
In Darkness’ grip the blind are lost, the dead descend to death
Rebellion’s waged against the King in battles rank and grim
The Host of Night pursues the Bride, her end to search and seek
But as the night persists and storms, she hears a shining breath
She’s washed amidst the glowing rays and bathed by liquid gems
She drinks the Blood of Sacrifice – her Lover kind and meek


He’s come, her Savior born in blood, in incarnated tears
Amidst the virgin’s blushing flood, in darkness canopied
A squalling infant, born to die upon a rugged tree —
The long foretold and hoped-for King — who wipes away her fears
The golden angels sing as one, “All praise to God on high!
For unto you is born this night the Savior of Mankind
He breathes your breath, He eats your food, your sorrows He will find
Go see Him now, the Lamb of God, and hear His infant cry!”
His body grows in grace and peace, in weakness growing strong
The wounded Healer of the world, a willing slave to all
Beloved by God, she’s broke and bruised, beset by Adam’s Fall
Prepared to love and serve and die, to sing salvation’s song:
“All joy unto this wounded world, come, come, behold your King,
Let ev’ry heart receive His love, your selves to Jesus bring!”


She waits with mournful joy amidst a work began in blood
In penitential expectation dying with her Liege
His royal visage shining in a flowing, crimson flood
Is pressed upon her beating soul, by sin and death besieged
She sobs, beset by pains and sorrows, beaten, sick and torn
She cries, “How long before this vanity by wind is blown?”
She lies in graves and catacombs, despised, in tears forlorn
She hopes, a bride in foreign lands, with prayers and sighs and groans
He’s coming to redeem His people from enslavement’s wage
Messiah comes to shatter all the chains that kill and bind
Not Babylon nor Rome shall stand before His loving rage
All wrongs will be made right in life, the lost Messiah finds
He comes to slay His enemies with grace and love and death
In love He saves with human blood and tears and sweat and breath


Amidst the green is joy expelled into
the air to play upon the holy breath
that skips between the oak and yew
in dance before the gods that deftly dress
with human garb.  She spins, her skirt a swirl
of leaf and shining petals shaped and fanned
in subtle seas of glinting colored whorls
that glow melodic chants upon the fragrant land.
To east the golden orb is slowly lit;
his rays a tender touch for waking beasts
ensconced within their winter’s lonely pit,
emerging to perform the Rites as nature’s priests.
The grasses sway beneath the sea of ray and breeze
and silent angels sing amidst the holy trees

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She comes in whispers, glimmers dancing softly
on the waltzing breeze in scented hues that
sing a gleaming melody in crimson
waves upon the floating arbor seas.
Behind her train the vespers evensong
of birds is raised and fades within the shrinking light
that glows in soft and tender swells along
the edge of night. The warmth of summer seeps
beyond the reach of live, invigorating
airs. The chill of sorrow’s hope lies weeping
on the dying lands; hopes to germinate,
to sprout in meditative, waking sleep
beneath the winter’s lovely, frozen curse
that falls upon the sphere of terra’s browning hearse.

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Before the birth of summer’s death there flows
a northern hint of autumn’s doleful hymn
upon the dancing streams of playful airs
that whisper lullabies to root and grain,
as verdant wine is sapped, a river blown
into the season’s turning.  Mourning swims
in swollen ranks as harvest’s bounty, fair
fruition of the mother’s birthing pains,
is culled and gathered; life from death, a rose
enacted (elegy for time), a grim
reminder of the beauty found where e’er
the holy lembas bread is broke in twain –
the sun intoning light in alban sound,
a paean to the blood of Heaven’s Hound

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