Sweet Cause

The world of men is full of accusers,
Innocent as doves in their own eyes.
Only the sinner finds a place at Your table,
Garbed, no longer in rotting rags,
But in wedding dress and festive best.

The lowly come
And are welcomed.
Choosing a place at Your feet
You invite "Come up higher".
At Your breast the disciple rests.

Hearts make merry,
While the wine of wisdom
Turns sorrow into joy,
Allowing the cross no less,
Sweet cause of happiness.

©2013 Joann Nelander

Well of Sorrows

You behold my inner groaning.
You grieve within me.
Low pitched moaning
Stir my depths,
Awaiting  promised vindication.
No eye, but Yours,
Beholds the river of unspent tears,
Hidden from the world of Men.
Prayer without ceasing
Issues forth
For Your ears only.

Words without sound
Shape my inner being
Fashioning a future full of bliss.
Hope of hallowed blessing,
Worthy of a king,
Yet reserved for but a slave.

O hidden well of sorrow
Dare always hope.
Here comes in triumph and thanksgiving,
The dawn of Day Spring
And Morning Star.

Not yet,
But always present.
In Faith, believing.
The Time of the Bridegroom
Coming to claim His Bride,
Robed now in wedding garments,
Washed resplendent
By crystalline waters.
Purified eyes of soul’s desire,
Embrace the eternal Son as His Beloved.

Well of sorrow,
House of Clay,
Delight now appearing
Open unto Eternity
The door of unending Joy
Hearts beating now as One.
Thy Kingdom come.

© 2011  Joann Nelander

Sweet Cause

The world of men is full of accusers,
Innocent as doves in their own eyes.
Only the sinner finds a place at Your table,
Garbed, no longer in rotting rags,
But in wedding dress and festive best.

The lowly come
And are welcomed.
Choosing a place at Your feet
You invite "Come up higher".
At Your breast the disciple rests.

Hearts make merry,
While the wine of wisdom
Turns sorrow into joy,
Allowing the cross no less,
Sweet cause of happiness.

©2013 Joann Nelander

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Sweet Cause

The world of men is full of accusers,
Innocent as doves in their own eyes.
Only the sinner finds a place at Your table,
Garbed, no longer in rotting rags,
But in wedding dress and festive best.

The lowly come
And are welcomed.
Choosing a place at Your feet
You invite "Come up higher".
At Your breast the disciple rests.

Hearts make merry,
While the wine of wisdom
Turns sorrow into joy,
Allowing the cross no less,
Sweet cause of happiness.

By Joann Nelander copyright 2013

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