Greetje at 21:42, 30 September 2008

2008-09-30T21:42:38Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 21:42, 30 September 2008
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	Five miles southeast of Nazareth<br>A young man drew his final breath,<br>And perished in his mother's arms.<br>She stared across the olive farms<br>South to the Plain of Esdraelon;<br>And back and forth she rocked her son,<br>Her only son, and held his head<br>Against the breast where she had fed<br>Him with her bitter milk and tears.		Five miles southeast of Nazareth<br>A young man drew his final breath,<br>And perished in his mother's arms.<br>She stared across the olive farms<br>South to the Plain of Esdraelon;<br>And back and forth she rocked her son,<br>Her only son, and held his head<br>Against the breast where she had fed<br>Him with her bitter milk and tears.

Greetje: New page: {{info}}Called
Five miles southeast of Nazareth
A young man drew his final breath,
And perished in his mother's arms.
She stared across the olive farms
South to the Plain ...

2008-09-25T14:23:29Z

New page: {{info}}Called Five miles southeast of Nazareth A young man drew his final breath, And perished in his mother's arms. She stared across the olive farms South to the Plain ...

New page

{{info}}Called 

Five miles southeast of Nazareth A young man drew his final breath, And perished in his mother's arms. She stared across the olive farms South to the Plain of Esdraelon; And back and forth she rocked her son, Her only son, and held his head Against the breast where she had fed Him with her bitter milk and tears.

For dark and bitter were the years When he was born. His father died Before the child could walk. His bride Of twenty months had buried him, With help from friends, out on the rim That falls steep toward Samaria. And spices from Arabia Were given by the neighborhood, As everyone agreed they should, Because she had no other family. But yet there was the son, and he The widow's only hope.

Twelve years They lived together, and her fears Grew less as he became a man. And then the dread disease began: At first the intermittent cough; And then the puzzling fever off And on; and then the constant wheeze; And then the nights upon her knees:

"Almighty God of Abraham, Take pity on me, Lord, I am A widow; he's my only son. If he should die I am undone!"

And then the purple spit appeared, And all the worst that she had feared. To fight his final fears she tried To hold him tight until he died. And back and forth she rocked her son Above the Plain of Esdraelon.

Her friends made fit the burial place Out on the rim, and made a space Beside his father, and prepared The body while his mother stared Across the Plain, too stunned and weak To work or cry or even speak. But then, come burial day, at length She summoned up her little strength, And with the child and crowd and pain She led them out the gates of Nain.

And now, behold, the Word of God! The rock- and ocean-splitting rod!

Along that very road there came A band of men, and One whose name Is Jesus Christ the Lord. They bowed Politely to the grieving crowd, But one: the Lord had fixed his eyes, As though he heard a thousand cries, On her. And when she saw his face She stopped, and silence filled the place. A strange and awesome feeling fell Upon that crowd, and they could tell That this exchange was very deep. And then he spoke and said, "Don't weep." And something happened in her heart That made the heaviness depart. And then he motioned to the men Who held the box, and when They looked at her and saw her hope, They set it down and loosed the rope. As gentle as a hand could be, He made the coffin cover free, And then with father-fingers lay The strips of facial shroud away, And spoke with passion in his eyes: "Young man, I say to you, arise." And he arose. And Jesus placed Him in his mother's arms, and faced Her one last time. Perhaps the two Of them alone were all who knew: Two short commands were all he said— Two people quickened from the dead.

Who can withstand the word of Christ! It has for ages now sufficed To bear the universe it made! Come let the glory be displayed Of Jesus Christ's triumphant voice! The dead rise not by their own choice, And none of us would live at all But by the Lord's triumphant call! This is the truth of candle two: The call of God makes all things new.

Called - Revision history

Greetje at 21:42, 30 September 2008

Greetje: New page: {{info}}Called Five miles southeast of NazarethA young man drew his final breath,And perished in his mother's arms.She stared across the olive farmsSouth to the Plain ...

Greetje: New page: {{info}}Called
Five miles southeast of Nazareth
A young man drew his final breath,
And perished in his mother's arms.
She stared across the olive farms
South to the Plain ...