Andre Rider-The Nightingale's Prayer
Excerpts from Jesus,The son Of man
Jesus As told and recorded by
I was walking with my maidens in the groves outside of Jerusalem
But one needs not a language to perceive a pillar of light
He was speaking to His friends of love and srength.
When He saw me passing by He stopped speaking
After that day His image visited my privacy when I would
Beloved friend, you have never seen that man,
He sang a song and none shall arrest that melody.
He was a stranger. Aye, He was a stranger,
Once more I would speak of Him.
Jesus loved me and I knew not why.
Love is a sacred mystery.
I was young then and only the voice of dawn had visited my ears.
And there were naught for me then but to walk in the sun
His fragrance called me and commanded me, but only to release me.
He is the first Word, which would speak with our voice and
And the Word of the Lord our God builded a house of flesh
For we could not hear the song of the bodiless wind nor see
Yet the sound of His voice descended never to emptiness,
This is the Christ, the innermost and the height,
In my heart dwells Jesus of Galilee, the Man above men,
Khalil Gibran
Pilate's wife to a Roman lady
when I saw Him with a few men and women sitting about Him;
and He was speaking to them in a language which I only half understood.
or a mountain of crystal. The heart knows what the tongue
may never utter and the ears may never hear.
I know He spoke of love because there was melody in His voice;
and I know He spoke of strength because there were armies in
His gestures.
for a moment and looked kindly upon me.
not be visited by man or woman; and His eyes searched
my soul when my own eyes were closed.
And His voice governs the stillness of my nights.
I am held fast forevermore; and there is peace in my pain,
and freedom in my tears.
and you will never see Him.
He is gone beyond our senses,
but of all men He is now the nearest to me.
Joseph surnamed Justus On
Jesus the Wayfarer
It shall hover from generation to generation and it shall rise
from sphere to sphere remembering the lips that gave it birth
and the ears that cradled it.
a wayfarer on His way to a shrine,
a visitor who knocked at our door,
a guest from a far country.
And because He found not a gracious host,
He has returned to His own place.
John at Patmos On
Jesus the Gracious
God gave me the voice and the burning lips
though not the speech.
And unworthy am I for the fuller word,
yet I would summon my heart to my lips.
And I loved Him because He quickened my spirit to heights
beyond my stature, and to depths beyond my sounding.
To those who love, it remains forever wordless;
But to those who do not love, it may be but a heartless jest.
But His voice and the trumpet of His voice was the end of my labor
and the beginning of my passion.
and worship the loveliness of the hour.
Could you conceive a majesty too kind to be majestic?
And a beauty too radiant to seem beautiful?
Could you hear in your dreams a voice shy of its own rapture?
He called me and I followed Him.
Love is a gracious host to his guests though to the unbidden
his house is a mirage and a mockery.
John the son of Zebedee
On the various apellations of Jesus
live in our ear that we may heed and understand.
and bones, and was man like unto you and myself.
our greater self walking in the mist...
for the memory of man keeps that which his mind takes no care to keep.
who walks with man towards eternity.
the Poet who makes poets of us all, the Spirit who knocks
at our door that we may wake and rise and walk out to meet
truth naked and unencumbered.