Poetry Saturday—Let It Be On Earth

Psalm 93
The Lord sits upright on His throne, 
draped in a mountain, rising through 
the clouds, forever changeless, new, 
eternally impervious to 
all storms or time, a growing stone 
of splendor and unmeasured girth:
As there, Lord, let it be on earth!

Psalm 45:6-8
What sweetness bathes our every sense!
What radiating gladness swells 
around us! What delightful smells 
engulf, what happy music tells
Your glory! Joys beyond expense 
from You and from Your throne pour forth:
As there, Lord, let it be on earth!

Psalm 47
They gather in Elysian Fields, 
a vast and varied, joyful host, 
with one objective uttermost—
their King to celebrate and toast!
There, casting down their crowns and shields, 
they tell His holy, matchless worth:
As there, Lord, let it be on earth!

Revelation 4, 5
Throughout the vast, far-flung expanse 
a chorus rises, joyous, strong:
Unnumbered hosts, an endless throng, 
their voices joined in glorious song, 
extol their King’s eminence, 
rejoicing in His matchless worth:
As there, Lord, let it be on earth!

Hebrews 12:1
Now let us focus on one saint, 
one from that boisterous crowd of those 
who prays together, dressed in clothes 
of linen white. See how he glows 
in mien and body! No restraint 
impedes his holy, joyful mirth:
As there, Lord, let it be on earth!

Hebrews 1:7 
Christ speaks, and angels all obey, 
and hurry off to implement
His Word. They are as servants sent, 
a holy, unseen regiment, 
to guard and guide us on our way.
Of faithfulness they know no dearth:
As there, Lord, let it be on earth!

Psalm 97:1-6
Fire flows to mark His path, and burns 
away His foes by righteousness 
and justice, oozing forth to bless 
the world and overpave the mess 
we men have made of things. He turns 
this way and that in all His worth:
As there, Lord, let it be on earth!T.M. Moore

Poetry Saturday—A Debtor To Mercy Alone

A debtor to mercy alone,
Of covenant mercy I sing,
Nor fear, with God’s righteousness on,
My person and off’rings to bring.
The terrors of law and of God
With me can have nothing to do;
My Savior’s obedience and blood
Hide all my transgression from view. 

The work which His goodness began,
The arm of His strength will complete;
His promise is Yea and Amen,
And never was forfeited yet.
Things future, nor things that are now,
Not all things below or above,
Can make Him His purpose forego,
Or sever my soul from His love. 

My name from the palms of His hands
Eternity will not erase;
Imprest on His heart, it remains
In marks of indelible grace.
Yes! I to the end shall endure,
As sure as the earnest is giv’n;
More happy, but not more secure,
When all earthly ties have been riv’n. —Augustus Toplady

Poetry Saturday—Every Fallen Soul

Every fallen soul, by sinning,
Merits everlasting pain;
But Thy love without beginning,
Has redeem’d the world again:
Countless millions
Shall in life, through Jesus reign.

Pause, my soul, adore and wonder:
Ask, “Oh, why such love to me?” 
Grace hath put me in the number
Of the Saviour’s family:
Hallelujah!
Thanks, eternal thanks to Thee!

Since that love had no beginning,
And shall never, never cease;
Keep, oh, keep me, Lord, from sinning;
Guide me in the way of peace:
Make me walk in
All the paths of holiness.

When I quit this feeble mansion,
And my soul returns to Thee,
Let the power of Thy ascension
Manifest itself in me;
Through Thy Spirit,
Give the final victory.

When the angel sounds the trumpet;
When my soul and body join;
When my Saviour comes to judgment,
Bright in majesty divine,
Let me triumph
In Thy righteousness as mine. —Anonymous

Poetry Saturday—If

If you can keep your head when all about you   
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
    But make allowance for their doubting too;   
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   
    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
    And treat those two impostors just the same;   
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
    And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   
    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
    If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   
    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son! —Rudyard Kipling

Poetry Saturday—The Course Of Prayer

Even so, the course of prayer who knows?
   It springs in silence where it will,
      Springs out of sight, and flows
         At first a lonely rill
But streams shall meet it by and by
   From thousand sympathetic hearts,
      Together swelling high
         Their chant of many parts. 
Unheard by all but angel ears
   The good Cornelius knelt alone,
      Nor dream’d his prayers and tears
         Would help a world undone. 
The while upon his terrac’d roof
   The lov’d Apostle to his Lord
      In silent thought aloof
         For Heavenly vision soar’d. 
Far o’er the glowing western main
   His wistful brow was upward rais’d,
      Where, like an angel’s train,
         The burnish’d water blaz’d. 
The saint beside the ocean pray’d,
   The soldier in his chosen bower
,
      Where all his eye survey’d
         Seem’d sacred in that hour. 
To each unknown his brother’s prayer,
   Yet brethren true in dearest love
      Were they—and now they share
         Fraternal joys above. —John Keble

Poetry Saturday—O My Soul What Means This Sadness

O my soul! what means this sadness?
Wherefore art thou thus cast down?
Let thy griefs be turned to gladness,
Bid thy restless fears be gone;
Look to Jesus, look to Jesus,
And rejoice in His dear name.

What though satan’s strong temptations
Vex and grieve thee day by day,
And thy sinful inclinations
Often fill thee with dismay;
Thou shalt conquer,
Through the Lamb’s redeeming blood.

Though ten thousand ills beset thee
From without and from within,
Jesus saith He’ll ne’er forget thee,
But will save from hell and sin.
He is faithful
To perform His gracious Word.

Though distresses now attend thee,
And thou tread’st the thorny road,
His right hand shall still defend thee;
Soon He’ll bring thee home to God.
Therefore praise Him,
Praise the great Redeemer’s name.

Oh that I could now adore Him
Like the heavenly host above,
Who forever bow before Him,
And unceasing sing His love.
Happy songsters!
When shall I your chorus join? —W.B. Bradbury

Poetry Saturday—A Mother’s Day Wish

When I consider how my life is spent
The most that I can do will be to prove
‘Tis by His side, each day, I seek to move.
To higher, nobler things my mind is bent
Thus giving of my strength, which God has lent,
I strive some needy souls’ unrest to soothe
Lest they the path of righteousness lose
Through fault of mine, my Maker to present.
If I should fail to show them of their need
How could I hope to meet Him, face to face,
Or give a just account of all my ways.
In thought of mind, in word, and in each deed
My life must prove the power of His grace
By every action through my living days. —Nelle Reagan (President Ronald Reagan’s mother)
%d bloggers like this: