Sunday, April 8, 2007

The Gift

A woman once beheld a man
She knew could end her pain.
If she could only get his help
It would not be in vain.
She thought, “If I could hold his hand
I know this trial will end,
If I could only touch his cloak
My body then would mend.”
So weaving through the pressing crowd
His hem she gently brushed,
And when the man turned to his men
The crowd around him hushed.
“Someone here has touched my robe,”
His words were deep and clear;
And finding his eyes holding hers
She knelt down in fear.
Then with a smile of gentle love
He raised her to her feet;
Said, “Daughter by your faith are healed,”
And sent her down the street.

Now we don’t have to touch his clothes
When faced with pain and strife,
To feel the power of his love,
Or have eternal life.
A simple call brings Jesus near
He answers every one,
And by His grace will set you free

His gift for all who come.

Rebecca

Wednesday, April 4, 2007

An Italian sonnet

Mary’s Garden Sonnet


Like the others I stand in line;
A cockleshell adorns my dress.
To look at me no one could guess
My slippered feet are made of vine.
We drink the springtime rain like wine
And bloom a vision of loveliness;
Pawns standing in a game of chess,
There beauty second only to mine.

One day Mary came to our garden bed
To trim our fingers and smooth our gowns.
To capture my beauty I’m cut at the knee.
My screams she can’t hear, nor can she see
The stem she leaves will turn brittle and brown;
The maid she saved for tomorrow is dead.


Rebecca