How privileged you are to visit in the autumn time the Holy Land
And tread upon the very soil that bore the imprints of the Son of God
Despite commercial bartering, enticements of the tourist trade
The rosaries, pressed olive leaves and crosses carved by hand,
a timelessness you'll find - the present fused into the past
You'll tread the path that through the centuries
pilgrims' feet have trod.
And you will really see the stable where it all began,
Despite the jostling crowds, the camera clicks, the chattering tongues,
an inward awe you'll surely feel, as here the shepherds kneeled
And wise men stopped before potential LOVE - A power exceeding
all the knowledge through the ages gleaned by man
This was the birthplace of the babe destined to preach and teach and heal.
How vivid to you and how apt will be the parables He spoke!
For you will see the 'lilies of the field' (though doubtless to the botanist a plant with Latin name)
The coin lost you will appreciate, for shekels you will use,
and you will see the oxen's yoke.
When wine you taste. His words about the 'vine' will come to mind
Likewise, when bread is served, and fruit - the figs and dates,
an inner store of memories you'll amass - a treasury you'll find.
The grass-clad mountain, valleys, flowers and cedar trees you won't forget
and perhaps you'll hear, once more the agonising cry of human suffering
But also the supreme acceptance of God's will in stark Gethsemane
as you approach with reverence that dark site of death
Reflect upon the resurrection - light of dawn, transforming Olivet.
