Good Friday

Why call you now this Friday good
    On which my Savior died?
His tortured body and his blood:
    He hangs there crucified.
‘Tis good, for Jesus’ sacred head
    Was wounded for our sin.
His blood ran down; with arms outspread
    He died to save all men.

Why call you now this Friday good,
    The shame upon the cross?
Messiah hangs upon the wood
    And he must take the loss.
‘Tis good, for now our debt is paid,
    Through him we owe no more,
And in the tomb his body laid:
    Praise Christ, our guarantor!

So call we now this Friday good
    And lift our praises high,
For blood and body now our food
    Have brought salvation nigh.
Our Lord and Savior, Christ the King
    Has died to set us free;
He took the blame for everything
    And brought us victory.

Speak

There has been a dearth of poetry here in the last three months.


How can I hear your voice, my God, my king?
The only voice I hear is mine alone.
I speak, I cry, I plead for anything
And hear no more than wind, than wisps windblown.
How can I do your will, my Lord, my God,
When I hear nothing from your righteous mouth?
How can I hear your voice? I have no prod
To lead me on, but my desires uncouth.
Where are you, Lord? Where are you, God? I cry!
I need your voice! I need your Spirit now!
What can I do? Without you, I will die,
While struggles, suffering, furrow all my brow.
My God, you save; you say you speak to man,
But why can I not hear your voice? Who can?


(Yes, I do need prayer. A lot. Funny how I write more poetry when I'm feeling like this.)

Preview

Prologue

The small, ferrety man shivered. The dimly-lit chamber in which he stood was strangely warm, almost uncomfortably so, but a thrill of fear walked up and down his spine, sending tremors through his limbs. “I, I beg your pardon, m-my lord,” he stammered, “b-but—my wife—”

“Yes, yes.” A voice, soft and silky but laden with menace, came around the back of the carved wooden chair, echoing off the hard stone walls. “She will be... restored... in time.” The man shivered again. Somehow, those words were far from comforting.

“But—but—what assurance do I have?” His voice quavered and he tried to master it. “I may not help you.” His attempt at confidence sounded weak, and he knew it.

“Assurance?” The voice sounded surprised, as if this was a new idea. “Assurance?” it repeated, scorn now evident. “I give no assurance for such matters. The only assurance I give is that you will never get her back otherwise. Now leave me.”

A tongue of fire flared up from the chair, and two tall figures stepped from the shadows on either side of the solid metal door, as if in response. They were robed in black with some sort of design embroidered in red thread down the sides and back. The design itself was hard to make out in the flickering torchlight. Though the man saw no weapons, he could sense that the guards were dangerous. He meekly complied with the order and was swiftly escorted out of the chamber and back into the city, wondering what would become of his dead wife.

1. Llyren

“Help!”

He searched frantically through the rubble. Where was he? He had to find him before it was too late. There wasn’t much time left. Where were the others? He heard someone calling out. Who was... Why couldn’t he remember their names? Something was wrong. His hands felt weak as he tried to move the rocks aside. He felt as if he was wading through quicksand. Soon it would be too late. Suddenly, a hand shot out of the rubble. There was a burst of flames, and then...

Llyren jerked upright, sweat trickling down his face. He felt around frantically, trying to remember where he was as his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness. His hands grabbed hold of soft sheets, and he breathed a sigh of relief. A dream. That’s all it was. A dream. Yet it had felt so real.

Light and Joy

Suddenly the River swept round a bend, and the banks rose upon either side, and the light of Lórien was hidden. To that fair land Frodo never came again.

The travellers now turned their faces to the journey; the sun was before them, and their eyes were dazzled, for all were filled with tears. Gimli wept openly.

"I have looked the last upon that which was fairest," he said to Legolas his companion. "Henceforward I will call nothing fair, unless it be her gift." He put his hand upon his breast. "Tell me, Legolas, why did I come on this Quest? Little did I know where the chief peril lay! Truly Elrond spoke, saying that we could not foresee what we might meet upon our road. Torment in the dark was the danger that I feared, and it did not hold me back. But I would not have come, had I know the danger of light and joy. Now I have taken my worst wound in this parting, even if I were to go this night straight to the Dark Lord. Alas for Gimli son of Glóin!"

"Nay!" said Legolas. "Alas for us all! And for all that walk the world in these afterdays. For such is the way of it: to find and lose, as it seems to those whose boat is on the running stream. But I count you blessed, Gimli son of Glóin: for your loss you suffer of your own free will, and you might have chosen otherwise. But you have not forsaken your companions, and the least reward that you shall have is that the memory of Lothlórien shall remain ever clear and unstained in your heart, and shall neither fade nor grow stale."

"Maybe," said Gimli, "and I thank you for your words. True words doubtless; yet all such comfort is cold. Memory is not what the heart desires. That is only a mirror, be it clear as Kheled-zâram. Or so says the heart of Gimli the Dwarf."


(Quoted from J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings.)

Weep, Weep for Zion!

Am I Nienna, is Nienna I?
Am I the one who weeps for sorrow deep?
When pain shall come, will I for sorrow cry?
Will I give voice to those who cannot weep?
I am Nienna, weeping for the pain
And crying for the hurts of fallen man.
I mourn the sin, lament the crimson stain,
And grieve for evil since the world began.
I have not voice enough to breathe the sighs
Of those who suffer long in evil’s chains;
I weep to cleanse the wounds of Satan’s lies
And bring new hope through mourning’s silver strains.
For not all tears are evil, not all wrong,
But sorrow leads to wisdom’s joyful song.

Glimpses of Heaven

A rainy day, a wintry day,
As raindrops fall and clouds away
Will blow, and go, and clear the air,
And blue the skies, and make them fair.

The music flows, and music goes,
And pictures paints of day at close,
And weds with reds the sunset sky
As clouds go ever drifting by.

The music sings with angel wings
Of landscapes green, and thus it brings
A flight o'er bright majestic hills:
The room with beauty, music fills.

Yet all of these, the sky, the breeze,
Are nothing more than heaven's tease
Of light and height and beauty bright,
And naught we do but praise His might.

For Your Glory

Mountains, snow-capped, white and hoary
In your name and for your glory;
German car and English lorry
In your name and for your glory;
Mansion, house, or single storey
In your name and for your glory;
Silver mine and granite quarry
In your name and for your glory;
Voice of God tells cosmic story:
In your name and for your glory.