It's easy to revive my heart, just talk of God to me,

and tell me that you love Him too, tell me of things that be

too big for us, of mysteries, of life and death and man,

of reach exceeding grasp, of choice and destiny, and plan.

And fuel my heart with such a faith as sees the things unseen,

and bring them home in life to me, enlighten me within.

So speak to me the mystery, and comfort if you would,

remind me of the One we love, and tell me He is good...

If every longing, every hope in life,
were summed up in one word, what would it be?

Would it be happiness, or peace from strife? What just one word would sum it up for me?

Would it be beauty, pleasantness, or rest, 'till mind and heart and soul are sweet sufficed?

What is that word which, Lord, describes it best?

To own one word, one only,
I'll take Christ.

To those who've been well-shepherded
through perilous years, and those
who've come to know the shepherd,
these the shepherd also knows.

Yet one not having seen they seek;
assured that God is love,
their hearts are fixed in hope on him
who dwells in light above.

Though king of heaven's legions,
he to them their father is.
This seal their blest assurance speaks:
God knoweth whom are his.

Their eyes turned toward the heavens,
not on passing things of men,
these gentle ones will overcome,
no bitterness with them.

No hint of accusation,
nor of evil speaking there,
just saints reduced to softness,
broken down to mellow care.

Though scarce a soul unbroken,
nor a one that would not break,
they to a larger Christ submit,
it's for his body's sake.

In simple, sweet communion
they just seek to glorify
the one above the heavens,
and to live in Him thereby.

As they're dwelling in the freshness
of the heavenly new birth,
they bring the kingdom's entrance door
accessible to earth.

For they have learned by living,
and have learned the mystery well:
more Christ is gained in giving
Him away; so, all could tell
the leading of the Spirit,
as its impulses they know
in following the living lamb
wherever he may go.
When weathered saints
with little strength
still seek the one above,
the marks of Philadelphia are
his name, his word, her love.

And no surprise, for whom the skies
shall one day opened be.
Then shall they gaze upon the one
through tears they've longed to see.

Till then their sound 'amen' resounds
to what they're daily given;
it is a pleasant job abroad
as citizens of heaven.

~ Ned Nossaman

N. Nossaman