"My Lord, where do thou walk?"
says the steward of an ancient house.
"I walketh to the gates, where your destiny lay."
Peered past lakes of youth and gainfully labor'd days, did the wizened disciple
see what plucked him up from peaceful labors there,
though willingly, he followed it.
The gaze of Almighty-God beckoned, he a sinner beset
and he ardently leapt like a shepherd's lamb to trace
those footsteps of his Lord.
Upon roads cumbersome amidst stones and netted-thorns,
where spoken, the Lord's name coaxed the very keys of heaven
to fall from their lofty vault.
Gold touched earth, soil renew'd where sprouted forth a Kingdom's fruits.
Binding and loosing bestow'd upon weak men
and defiance borne toward ruling darkness.
"I shall follow you," said the disciple.
Verily, did he pass dreary pathways;
raucous squabbling fellow-men,
past grand thoroughfares; sweats, toils and hatred.
Now a ram grown, he drove the flock,
fending away dogs and wolves who
compass'd about, peering afore death.
The threshold thereof, loomed mightily;
its imperial winds howling.
Saith again his Lord:
"Walketh I the gates and twice endure most-bitter passion for thy sake?"
No, twas deigned his courage show and walk him where his Lord should go.
Along the way, tree-necks bow'd, creation hailed:
"Ave! Shepherd who follows his Shepherd, prince trailing after his Prince."
Did skies still and woods shout praise:
"Salve! Vicar who heeds his General, slave turn'd to his Master."
And how men bound him,
enemies unknown by God, and took him hither he would not go.
How with mockery,
they grid and carry'd him in conceit
onto that gruesome bough.
There the disciple begged, his head not be exulted
but hung near the ground.
Then, was servant with Master upheld,
everlasting testament given
to goodness, mildness and truth.
In that place, God's head crown'd to touch the crown of his head.
Bride and Bridegroom together wept and bled.
(This poem was written by me, Rachel M. Gohlman, PLEASE DO NOT COPY WITHOUT PERMISSION)