TITLE: Past the Meadow - the Hill By Jeanette Oestermyer 01/18/07 |
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Past the Meadow – the Hill
Oh, here the air is sweet and still
and soft’s the grass to lie on;
and far away’s the little hill
they took for Christ to die on.
- Edna St. Vincent Millay
Oh, here the air is sweet and still,
a meadow lies in elegance.
Like ocean tides that rise and fall,
then splash against a strong seawall.
Now I must ponder, take a stance.
Oh, here the air is sweet and still
and soft’s the grass to lie on,
thick green carpet unfurls its length.
As gentle breeze bends each taut blade
the meadow spins to deepest shade.
A place to pray for hope and strength,
and soft’s the grass to lie on.
And far away’s the little hill,
alone, foreboding, ominous.
Is this the one? How can I know?
But there – the olive trees still grow,
through history magnanimous,
and far away’s the little hill
they took for Christ to die on.
I know He died there all alone
upon that cross between two thieves.
Each time recalled, my sad heart grieves
that hill, the skull, for all to atone -
they took for Christ to die on.
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