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Veronica's Cloth
By Sheila O'Neil - Farrow

 

It's when I pray, with breath held deep within, and darkened eyes into the stillness search,
There comes an image, shimmering to my mind, and on a linen cloth, features emerge.
And why such vision should perforce arise, beyond my understanding or my will,
I know not, but the feeling is sublime, the dead Christ reigning here, is with us still.
Were I the woman who on His sad day, brought forth a cloth and gently cleansed His face,
I could not see him clearer or more true, than if I'd knelt before Him in her place.

My Lord comes close when I just close my eyes. This world and all it's clamour dies away.
Increases faith wherein salvation lies. Finds treasure, gold and silver, lifts the grey.
This jewel that brings with it perfect peace, though housed within a piece of homespun sheet,
In my sight it is hemmed with braids of silk, conjoining joy and sorrow, 'till complete.
And when I wake, to this my life returned, I hold so far inside, the deep desire,
That on this journey, as on His last made, He'll cleanse my soul and fill me with His fire.

My journey, sometimes tedious, sometimes glad, cannot compare with His up to the tree.
Where doubt, despair, and terrifying fears assailed my saviour, and because of me.
Just as a man, he suffered and endured. How easy then for me to take my load.
I close my eyes and see that bravest face, and feel His touch along the lonely road.
Without grace, how helpless are we all, dragged down with care which comes to haunt our way.
But calmly, and with stillness, I will call the vision that was captured on that day.

 

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