Poetry Saturday—Come, Ye That Love The Lord

Come, ye that love the Lord,
  And let your joys be known;
Join in a song with sweet accord
  While we surround the throne.
The sorrow of the mind
  Be banish’d from the place; 
Religion never was design’d
  To make our pleasures less.
Let those refuse to sing
  Who never knew our God;
But servants of the heavenly King
  May speak their joys abroad.
The God that rules on high,
  That all the earth surveys,
That rides upon the stormy sky,
  And calms the roaring seas:
This awful God of ours,
  Our Father and our Love;
He will send down His heavenly powers
  To carry us above. 
There shall we see His face,
  And never, never sin;
There from the rivers of His grace
  Drink endless pleasures in.
Yes! and before we rise
  To that immortal state,
The thoughts of such amazing bliss
  Should constant joys create.
The men of grace have found
  Glory begun below;
Celestial fruits on earthly ground
  From faith and hope may grow.
The hill of Zion yields
  A thousand sacred sweets,
Before we reach the heavenly fields,
  Or walk the golden streets.
Then let our songs abound,
  And every tear be dry;
We’re marching through Immanuel’s ground
  To fairer worlds on high. —Isaac Watts

Poetry Saturday—Before Jehovah’s Awesome Throne

Before Jehovah’s awesome throne,
O nations, bow with sacred joy;
Know that the Lord is God alone,
He can create, and He can destroy.

His sovereign power without our aid
Made us of clay and formed us men;
And when like wandering sheep we strayed,
He brought us to His fold again.

We are His people, we His care,
Our souls and all our mortal frame.
What lasting honors shall we rear,
Almighty Maker, to Your name?

We’ll crowd your gates with thankful songs,
High as the heavens our voices raise;
And earth with all its thousand tongues
Shall fill Your courts with sounding praise.

Wide as the world is Your command,
Vast as eternity Your love;
Firm as a rock Your truth shall stand
When rolling years shall cease to move. —Isaac Watts

Poetry Saturday—I’ll Praise My Maker While I’ve Breath

I’ll praise my Maker while I’ve breath;
and when my voice is lost in death,
praise shall employ my nobler powers.
My days of praise shall ne’er be past
while life and thought and being last,
or immortality endures.

How happy they whose hopes rely
on Israel’s God, who made the sky
and earth and seas with all their train;
whose truth forever stands secure,
who saves the oppressed and feeds the poor,
and none shall find God’s promise vain.

The Lord pours eyesight on the blind;
the Lord supports the fainting mind
and sends the laboring conscience peace.
God helps the stranger in distress,
the widowed and the parentless,
and grants the prisoner sweet release. —Isaac Watts

Poetry Saturday—An Acrostic

I am a vile polluted lump of earth;
So I’ve continued ever since my birth;
Although Jehovah grace does daily give me,
As sure as this monster satan will deceive me.
Come therefore, Lord, from satan’s claws relieve me.
Wash me in Thy blood, O Christ,
And grace divine impart;
Then search and try the corners of my heart,
That I in all things may be fit to do
Service to Thee, and sing Thy praises too. —Isaac Watts (written at age 7)

Poetry Saturday—Our Sins The Cause Of Christ’s Death

Infinite grief! amazing woe!
Behold my bleeding Lord!
Hell and the Jews conspired His death,
And us’d the Roman sword.

O the sharp pangs of smarting pain
My dear Redeemer bore,
When knotty whips, and ragged thorns,
His sacred body tore!

But knotty whips, and ragged thorns
In vain do I accuse;
In vain I blame the Roman bands,
And the more spiteful Jews.

‘Twas you, my sins, my cruel sins,
His chief tormentors were;
Each of my crimes became a nail,
And unbelief the spear.

It was you that pulled the vengeance down
Upon His guiltless head;
Break, break, my heart! O burst mine eyes!
And let my sorrows bleed.

Strike, mighty grace, my flinty soul,
Till melting waters flow,
And deep repentance drown mine eyes
In undissembled woe. —Isaac Watts

Poetry Saturday—The Monster Death

Break off your tears, ye saints, and tell
How high your great Deliverer reigns;
Sing how He spoiled the hosts of hell,
And led the monster death in chains:
Say, Live forever, wondrous King!
Born to redeem, and strong to save;
Then ask the monster, Where’s thy sting?
And, Where’s thy victory, boasting grave? —Isaac Watts

7 Passages From “The Christian Book Of Mystical Verse”

A.W. Tozer had a great ear for poetry that would help Christians better glimpse the heart of God. In his collection called The Christian Book Of Mystical Verse he shares dozens of these poems. Check out my review of this collection by clicking here, and then enjoy these short passages I have highlighted.

If you enjoy poetry, I post a new poem every Saturday. Enter your email address in the box to the right, and click “Sign me up!” to be notified whenever a new poem is posted.

We from Thy oneness come,
Beyond it cannot roam,
And in Thy oneness find our one eternal home. —Frederick William Faber

Break off your tears, ye saints, and tell
How high your great Deliverer reigns;
Sing how He spoiled the hosts of hell,
And led the monster death in chains:
Say, Live forever, wondrous King!
Born to redeem, and strong to save;
Then ask the monster, Where’s thy sting?
And, Where’s thy victory, boasting grave? —Isaac Watts

Thus doth Thy grandeur make us grand ourselves;
’Tis goodness bids us fear;
Thy greatness makes as brave as children are,
When those they love are near. —Frederick William Faber

My sins, my sins, my Savior!
They take such hold on me,
I am not able to look up,
Save only Christ to Thee;
In Thee is all forgiveness,
In Thee is abundant grace,
My shadow and my sunshine
The brightness of Thy face. —John S.B. Monsell

Then, my soul, in every strait,
To thy Father come, and wait;
He will answer every prayer:
God is present everywhere. —Oliver Holden

O Love Divine! that stoop’st to share
Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear,
On Thee we cast each earth-born care,
We smile at pain while Thou art near. —Oliver Wendell Holmes

My heart is at the secret source
Of every precious thing.
Now the frail vessel Thou hast made
No hand but Thine shall fill;
For the waters of the earth have failed,
And I am thirsty still. —Anna Laetitia Waring
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