The Ancient Hym Sung Once More

Let us begin once more,

the telling of the tale —

older than time’s methodical memory,

older than the songs sung since creation,

’round firelight by mothers and daughters,

joined in hand with sons and fathers dancing.

He walks among us still —

laughing, weeping,

waiting, always listening

within and around us.

But to perceive Him

takes a trained eye that longs with love,

and a patient, yielded will

that truly seeks Him ever present.

So light the fires —

flares sparked into the cold night air —

as dancers twirl round firelight in sacred song.

Praise the Messiah,

He who was, and Is, and Is to Come!

Glorious Lord Yeshua, King of Kings, Lord of Glory, we await You.

We have adorned ourselves in festal garments

and attend the Supper —

the feast of ages held in heaven,

here on earth as we kneel.

Our garments once seen as glorious

now sorely vexed and trash-like

when compared to the purity of expression present in His façade.

So we cover ourselves in the dust of the earth

and cry out to the rocks:

“Fall upon us!

Hide us from the face of the Lord God Almighty.”

And unto Thee do we once more languish

in purpose-built patient endurance,

eagerly seeking You —

in the wind, in the weather, in the stars,

and the celestial movements,

in ourselves, and especially

where we still lack Your access.

Fools though we are, we come.

We heap dust upon our brow

and tear our garments.

So great has been the longing for You,

so urgent the outcry,

that I too join my voice

to the choir of heaven in anticipatory jubilation:

Praise be to Thee, my Love.

As Always Dust,

To you,

For You,

From Him,

In me.