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Writer's pictureNeil Rogers

I Want to See Your Face

Some Greeks who heard of Jesus’ fame

Asked Philip if he might explain

To Jesus that they longed to meet

Could Philip do it, quite discreet?

To heaven Jesus raised his eyes

And thanked his Father whose replies

Rang clear to those who could perceive

The Father’s joy in Abram’s seed


Another blind man by the road

Each footstep hid a different code

Some would quicken, pass on by

Some would slow and wonder why

Some stopped still at fifty feet

To count their pennies in the heat

But in the crowd a stranger trod

The Son of David! Son of God!

Bartimaeus, stake your claim

This stranger calls me by my name

Son of David, hear my plea

Your lovely face I want to see

So be it! Come, creation’s Light

Restore this man to perfect sight

King and beggar side by side

Walked hand in hand like Groom and Bride

A tax man squatted by the road

The crowd would pass by his abode

The value of each man he knew

The secret hidden in their shoe

The barefoot beggars had no cash

The well-shod hid a private stash

But on this day he climbed a tree

For Jesus’ face he had to see

And when the Saviour came to town

He stopped and called the tax man down

Zacchaeus, hop down from your perch

I will not leave you in the lurch

For we must settle debts today

It’s time to give your wealth away

And with delight the short man dropped

To earth just where the Saviour stopped

Now Jesus’ words were very kind

And at Zacchaeus’ table dined

The short, fat rogue stood up to say

Lord, half my wealth I give away

What’s more if I by force or fraud

Have taken what none could afford

Then I restore it four times o’er

I will not do it anymore


Salvation to this house has come

And found this son of Abraham

The Son of Man at such great cost

Has come to seek and save the lost

And then this parable he told

A master gave his servants gold

Then left on business far and royal

On his return he found them loyal

Some earned ten-fold interest

Some made five-fold and were blessed

One idle servant took the cash

And in the sand he hid his stash

So when the master came back there

He had no profit to declare

You wicked, lazy charlatan

Transfer his gold to him with ten


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