Christ in the Garden


Midnight Garden

Christ in the Garden

Be with me.
Be with me,
In the Garden of Gethsemane.
Be with me,
and take my hand.
Here in the garden,
we will walk together
hand in hand.
Be with me
Be with me,
In the Garden of Gethsemane
I only ask
you open eyes
and do not sleep.
There’s no need to speak,
only a simple willingness
of feet,
and in your heart,
I will give you rest.

Be with me
Be with me
In a silent midnight prayer
in the stillness
of the midnight air,
as moonlight
illuminates our lines
in this silent Garden
for all time.
And we will not forsake
each others In this life ,
till just before the early morning breaks.

In the Garden
there’s a tree that blossoms,
only once at night,
Both red and white,
And its beauty blossoms down
towards the ground.
I will take you there
And we will water it

with all my flowing blood,
with all eternal love .

Be with me,
Be with me,
In the Garden of Gethsemane
and we will travel,
back to hanging gardens
Of the East,
And forth to courtyard gardens
of the West,
And to that wonderous garden
held in by walls of cedar plank,
where we will finally
Be free,
And Be at peace,
to wrap robes
round fragrant trees.
Here passion
will be buried deep
And there will be
only you and I
in purest love
The love most pure and sweet.

Be with me,
Be with me,
and we will see
from mountain slopes,
and water olive trees,
with crimson sweat

and bitter tear,

resting on a sacrificial altar stone.
Be with me,
Be with me,
In the garden
if you can,
for this night only
I am here, and
All alone this darkest night Man.

Be  with me
and contemplate, finally embrace,
the Love that flows
here freely
in the Gardens of Gethsemane
my Love.

And when the time comes,
That we must part,
Hold and remember
I will always be
Set deep in your heart,
Here in the stillness
Of the Gardens of Gethsemane,
My love.

From “Dreams for a Saturday Morning” by PWChaltas

Rabbi Did You Say


Rabbi Did You Say

Rabbi Did You Say

Rabbi ,
did you say
you have spoken
with Messiah ,
and that in time
he will come ,
on Ariel’s passing ,
whose brain
but a grape
squeezed ,
to dark ink ,
sweet ruddy wine,
long picked
like a saffron rose
from a stem of thorns?
Did you draw the
crosses in your
prayer book ?
In your recitations,
and your songs,
Illuminate us
with his presence,
transforming lion
of the creator,
as you tell us
of his footsteps
on the plain and
in the dawn ,
by the dark
of His bosom’s Love.