Back to the Garden
These are the heart tears, tinged with blood;
my Beloved knows every hidden grief.
I try to be strong for You
but we both know how crippled I am.
Won't You carry me for a ways?
That I might bury my face in Your throat.
That I might be held, body and soul,
my Beloved knows every hidden grief.
I try to be strong for You
but we both know how crippled I am.
Won't You carry me for a ways?
That I might bury my face in Your throat.
That I might be held, body and soul,
nearer to You. O Beloved,
stay within my sight –
Your pink coat, sheer sadra, flowing hair.
Keep glancing over Your shoulder to make sure
I am there – in earshot of Your handclap.
My heart, Lord, is Yours to range freely, until the day
the whole realm of my being lies under Your chappals.
O child of God, the heart is a mountainous country;
beautiful valleys to cross.
Your Beloved walks it with you; back to the garden
from which you came.
Keep glancing over Your shoulder to make sure
I am there – in earshot of Your handclap.
My heart, Lord, is Yours to range freely, until the day
the whole realm of my being lies under Your chappals.
O child of God, the heart is a mountainous country;
beautiful valleys to cross.
Your Beloved walks it with you; back to the garden
from which you came.
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