Year of Jubilee
Written by Adam M. Snow

My child, My child; lend Me your ear,
heed My word, put aside your fear,
your pride, your sword, your envious jeer
- hear My voice and revere.

See the world through grain of sand,
this world of yours is My Father's land.
Heed My word and make a stand
- rain of revival is at hand.

Your home will burn with Holy fire;
your kin will see My Father's desire.
Hundreds of voices will be lifted higher,
many will speak with tongues of fire.

The blind will gain a whole new sight,
they shall see God's Holy might.
Holy Spirit will in them shine bright,
their tongues shall too with fire ignite.

The lame will dance and dance so free,
to a Heavenly chorus of praises towards Me.
They will dance and dance so endlessly
- rejoicing, rejoicing with tears of glee.

The mute will speak with unheard voice
and sing aloud as they rejoice.
Praises will flow from their new found voice,
set ablaze as they rejoice.

The deaf will hear the angel choir,
their hearts will be set a fire.
They will hear My voice, My desire
and go forth to inspire.

My child, My child; lend Me your ear,
heed My word, put aside your fear,
your pride, your sword, your envious jeer
- hear My voice and revere.

There's more to come in the coming year,
but time is fading as I draw near.
Listen My child, so that our hearts cohere
- a great revival is drawing near.

The raging wars, the pointless bloodshed
all will cease, the lost will be led
to the altar with tears they'll shed,
- their hearts, free of dread.

The earth shall see His Majesty,
all captives will be set free.
All creation will fall to their knees,
this the year of Jubilee.

My child, My child; lend Me your ear,
heed My word, put aside your fear,
your pride, your sword, your envious jeer
- hear My voice and revere
- hear My voice, let our hearts cohere
- a great revival is drawing near.

Weeping by the Willow Tree
Written by Adam M. Snow

Who is she adorned in moonlight's veil -
This beauty with skin so fragile and pale?
I see her within a dream surreal,
Weeping by the willow tree.

Why does she weep such a woe,
Under starry midnight glow?
Upon the ground, her tears will flow;
Weeping by the willow tree.

How can I clearly see?
She weeps so tenderly...
Will I come to know; can it be,
She weeps for me by the willow tree?

What can cause her broken heart,
That led this dame to hurt?
Her hair does fairly touch the dirt;
Weeping by the willow tree.

A love that's lost should only be,
Misinterpreted reality,
For she will never be set free,
Weeping by the willow tree.

A heart's amiss if love is lost -
An empty bliss would be the cost.
A troubled dream, she would exhaust –
Weeping by the willow tree.

Every which way the wind would blow,
The rustling leaves, the willow'd throw.
Akin to willows weep, we know!
She weeps by the willow tree.

Is she an angel kneeling there?
What is her burden that she bear?
Certainly there is such grief in the air,
Away by the olden willow tree.

She veils her face with waterfall tears,
Misery held her all these years.
With tender hopes and fears,
She weeps by the willow tree.

The willow tree leaves would sway,
As she, on her knees would pray.
Every night and every day,
She weeps by the willow tree.

Alas! It is that she cries for me;
It twas I who caused her such sweet misery.
I hear her cries, her plea,
Underneath the willow tree.

I oft wonder what I did to she,
And wonder why she weeps for me.
In the night I hear the keys -
While she weeps under the willow tree.

Upon the morn, it occurred to me,
That maiden cries out of love for me.
And I simply walked past her plea,
Not knowing what causes her to weep,
Silently under the willow tree.

The succeeding night I went to see,
That beautiful girl who sits under the tree.
I saw her there, but in despair -
She hangs from two branches bare.
Swinging under the willow tree.
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The Music in the Wind
Written by Adam M. Snow

O you sweet ol sound that grasp the wind,
you hold so tight to sway again -
through the branches springtide leaves,
such a tune these wind they weaves.
O that sweet ol song I heard before;
those magic notes, amusing score.
Like a moth's once soon cocoon,
your sweet ol song shall bring a new.
The songs that birds in morning sing,
those chapel bells whom we praise to ring.
Among the wind, they play so free -
O sweet ol sound, play again for me.
Let me hear o rustling branches,
a sound of an octave cord -
that of which o nature brings me,
the songs of which the tune - delights me.
The joy your tune in which it brings,
upon the wind - upon pigeons wings.
Songs of which entwined with man,
like that of many passing cars,
or the coming train to name of some;
a flowing rhythm - their own drum.
O this day your finest song,
I can hear it all day long.
To hear thee, o city music,
a concerto to befit,
- entwined with the sound of nature
- entwined with the earth for sure.
Your tune so great it can be seen,
through the branches, leaves of green.
Such an awe we shall not waste,
the joyance of sweet nature's fate.
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This poem is still a work in progress.... I need some thoughts... Is there anything I should reword or change?

A Visitor in the Morning Fog
Written by Adam M. Snow

Oh what a stage this morning break
Waking to a smoke-like sight
So thick it covers the dawn opaque
The freshly gold now blight
My heart is weak, I feel it ache
Upon this morning sight
Unlike the sun my heart don't hide
Nor in the fog it dwell
Even though and with my pride
This cruel heart I knew so well
Left me alone to stride
In this smokey hell
(more is coming soon)

Little Child
Written by Adam M. Snow

Little child, weary wanderer,
leaving home to go forth yonder.
Sat alone beneath oak tree,
to sleep away his misery.
A mile from his cottage home,
this little child left to roam,
in the woods so dark and damp;
this little child would make his camp.
While asleep, he heard asunder;
flash of lights -- arose of thunder.
Upon his face a dreadful frown,
pouring rain now crashing down.
He watched a tragic play unfold,
that left this child in the cold.
The tent he pitched -- swept away,
by the shifting mud and clay.
Now the child dripping wet,
sat alone the night and wept.

I Wait for Thee
Written by Adam M. Snow

In stillness -- I wait for thee.
When time beat still -- I wait for thee.
When my troubles are great
and burdens my heart;
if my voice would leave me astray,
still this day -- I wait for thee.
When sickness strickens me,
bedridden and weak -- I wait for thee.
Through many quaint of restless nights -- I wait for thee.
When I'm old and wizened, and my memories flee,
still my Lord, I wait for thee.
In a crowd of many or by my lonesome self -- I wait for thee.
And in my travels through misery,
when the world has grown so dark;
in my days of ridicule, my faith on trial,
I, your bondservant will wait for thee.
And in my final hour with my final breath -- I wait for thee.
With every hour of my life, from now till then -- I wait for thee.
I wait for thee O Lord -- I wait for thee.
Even in my darkened days -- I wait for thee.
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This Lost Lamb
Written by Adam M. Snow

Oh by the morning strike of day
and by the calm obscure of night,
my heart is Yours O God - I pray;
grant this lost lamb Your holy sight.

Give this lost lamb the sight to see,
truth that lies in the love of Thee.
Show me the world in Your own eyes
and make O God, this dumb man wise.

Grant this lost lamb the words to speak,
the Word O God of Yours to man,
the Word of truth for which they seek
in ways a lamb once lost dare can.

Grant this lost lamb an ear to hear,
and hear Your voice so crystal clear.
Speak Ye - O God with words of love,
let this lamb hear Your voice above.

Grant this lost lamb the feet to lead,
so I may guide a crowd to Thee.
Help this lamb O God to succeed,
and help the ones encage be free.

Grant this lost lamb the hands to aid,
and help the fallen and afraid,
and help the lost ones to be found.
Help me guide them to solid ground.

Lead this lost lamb - O God, to Thee;
save this lamb from the sunless deep.
Open my eyes so I could see,
all of You and Your loving heap.

Let this lost lamb be born again,
to live for You - O God, Amen
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