The Book of Christian

The Song of Christian

The song of songs, which is mine,
Let no thief enter, nor terrorist despoil.
For we are keeper of the Garden
Steward to the goddess, Mother Earth.

I am manservant to her silent need,
Of which she, bound in this silence, does not speak,
Yet mourns the ravage of herself
Waits in the garden, patiently.

Come to this bridegroom, my love, my cedar.
Thou art comely in linens
Thou art dipped in ancient spices,
That of myrrh and frankincense
And lie in waiting, that this bridegroom come.

There is a spice you do not know,
The one of blood and musk
That despoilers pour upon your fields
To feed you, which has taken from you everything.

Yea, the light does not enter
Through the smoke which rise
From the meadow of harsh death
The death which they wish to be thy marriage bed.

For the watchman has rent thy veil,
He has defiled thee
When you but sought your love in the night
Unarmed, and helpless, and innocent.

Let us seek him out
Let us seek the despoiler of thy beauty
For blood is thy water, and flesh is thy feast,
They shall lie upon the carnage in lust,
They shall embrace upon the blackened forest.

Thou art pale, thy senses weak,
Who has done this? Let us find them,
Let us draw the sword from our side
For every man has his sword upon his thigh,
Because of fear in the night.

Behold, thou art still fair
Thy chest yet heaves in desire,
Let him take you under the cedars of Lebanon,
Let him take you upon the bed of Solomon.

For you are yet the bridegroom's desire,
You are yet his heart,
Though the monster lie in waiting,
And take the riches that are his.

You are yet the bridegroom's love, braced in gold,
Though some desire bodies, cold.
The cedars are above us, pounded in gold,
Though some are blind to beauty, and bound in cold.

Let us go unto the Garden, oh bride,
To kiss the fresh-born fruit upon the vine,
To take the gentle bloom upon us,
Let us be witness to what is thine.

He is the rose of Sharon, he is the lily among the thorns,
He is the Garden, despoiled, come back
In armor, a warrior come back
To reclaim what is his
Upon the flesh of my Mother, of Earth.

His left hand is under your head,
His right hand doth embrace you.
Rise up, dear love, and come to him
For the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.

Let us stand now in clear light
For the enemy is upon us
Let us prepare in love of life
Let us harden ourselves in longing
For that which was taken from us.

His heart waketh, his head is filled with dew,
His hands are upon the lock.
Dripping in myrrh, he opens to his beloved,
But the bride is gone, he seeks her
But he cannot find her.

Would you cause him to face the beast alone?
Shall you go to the watchman
About the city who will smite you
Who shall take away your veil?

Where are you, oh beloved?
Oh daughter of Jerusalem, he is sick in love.
His beloved is gone, where shall he find her?
His beloved is gone down into the Garden
To feed upon the lilies.

His head is as the finest ivory, his hair
Is raven, his eyes are the eyes
Of starlight, blue in the night.
His lips of lilies, beyond a fence.
His belly stiff and firm as stone.

His legs are strong as iron posts
Set upon sockets of stone.
His face is of this valley of the yellow pine.
This is the bride's beloved, this is her friend.

Where has his beloved gone? Oh you
Of the valley, where is she?
She is gone down into the Garden
To the bed of lilies, they stain her white linens.
In golden pollen, like the linens of Solomon.

She feedeth among the lilies, she tastes
Their sweet whiteness to become whole
From the apple that Eve tastes.
She feeds among the lilies in the Garden, to be whole.

He went down into the Garden, to see the fruits of the valley,
To see where his beloved had gone.
His spirit made him like the chariots of Yahweh,
To reclaim his beloved, who was there.

He is undefiled, the choice of the one who bore him.
She waits for her beloved, and his desire is hers.
She will go up to the tree of lilies
And take hold of its branches, for it is hers.

The juice of his mouth is like bourbon,
It goes down sweetly, causing the mouth to speak.
Come, his beloved, go to the Garden together.
Go now to see if it would'st flourish.

Oh, sacred bride, that you were his sister
When he would find you without,
He would kiss you. He will not be despised.
He will lead you to our Mother's house,
Do not wake your beloved until he please.

Who is this that comes out of the wilderness?
Who raised you up under the apple tree?
This is where our Mother had'st born thee.
Let be as a seal upon your heart,
A seal upon your bridehead.

Love does not understand death.
Jealousy is the fire of death.
It is as cruel as the grave.
Do not seek her there, my bridegroom.

Water cannot quench love,
Floods cannot drown it.
It is that of the light,
It is that of the lily which blooms.

Will you be a wall?
He will build a palace of silver over you.
Will you be a door?
He will enclose you with panels of silver.

He is a palace and his walls are as towers.
His walls face new Eden.
There is light in morning, and eve.
Would'st thou sustain with him,
Oh love of ages?

You who dwell in his Gardens,
His companion, hear his voice,
Cause him to see the light of your lamp,
Make haste, beloved groom!