Poetry Saturday—Life Is Brief

’Tis not for man to trifle. Life is brief,
And sin is here.
Our age is but the falling of a leaf—
A dropping tear.
We have no time to sport away the hours:
All must be earnest in a world like ours.
Not many lives, but only one have we—
One, only one;
How sacred should that one life ever be—
That narrow span!
Day after day filled up with blessed toil,
Hour after hour still bringing in new spoil. —Horatius Bonar

Poetry Saturday—Knowing Greatness

galaziesO Lord my God
When I in awesome wonder
Consider all the worlds Thy hands have made
I see the stars
I hear the rolling thunder
Thy power throughout the universe displayed
 
          Then sings my soul
          My Savior God to Thee
          How great Thou art
          How great Thou art (Carl Boberg)
 
Galaxies and snowflakes.
Volcanoes and water geysers.
Summer and winter.
Day and night.snowflake_
Puppies and mosquitoes.
Red blood cells and white.
Me.
 
          You made them all.
          You know them all.
          You are in them all.
          How great Thou art!
 
I want to praise You more.
To praise You more,
I must know You more.
To know You more,
I must experience You more.
 
          Give my eyes sharper sight.
          My ears more attentive hearing.
          Give my tongue better tasting.
          My nose more acute smelling.
          Give my skin more sensitive feeling.
 
All my senses more keenly aware of all Your creation.
More aware of my Creator in creation.lightning
 
          You are in every sight.
          Sound.
          Taste.
          Smell.
          Touch.
          You are in all.
 
Today I want to experience You more.
To praise You more.
To know Your greatness more.
To realize Your love more.
How great Thou art! —Craig T. Owens
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Poetry Saturday—Growing Old

They call it “going down the hill” when we are growing old,
And speak with mournful accents when our tale is nearly told;
They sigh when talking of the past, the days that used to be,
As if the future were not bright with immortality.
 
But it is not going down; ‘tis climbing high and higher,
Until we almost see the mountain that our souls desire;
For if the natural eye grows dim it is but dim to earth,
While the eye of faith grows keener to discern the Savior’s worth.
 
Who would exchange for shooting blade the waving golden grain?
Or, when the corn is fully ripe, would wish it green again?
And who would wish the hoary head, found in the way of truth
To be again encircled in the sunny locks of youth?
 
 
For though, in truth, the outward man must perish and decay,
The inward man shall be renewed by grace from day to day;
Those who are planted by the Lord, unshaken in their root,
Shall in their old age flourish and bring forth their choicest fruit.
 
It is not years that make men old; the spirit may be young,
Though fully threescore years and ten the wheels of life have run.
God has Himself recorded, in His blessed Word of truth,
That they who wait upon the Lord shall even renew their youth.
 
And when the eye, now dim, shall open to behold the King,
And ears now dull with age shall hear the harps of Heaven ring,
And on the head now hoary shall be placed the crown of gold,
Then shall be known the lasting joy of never growing old. —Anonymous

Poetry Saturday—Judge Not

Judge not; the workings of his brain
And of his heart thou canst not see;
What looks to thy dim eyes a stain,
In God’s pure light may only be
A scar, brought from some well-won field,
Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.

The look, the air, that frets thy sight,
May be a token that below
The soul has closed in deadly fight
With some infernal fiery foe,
Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace,
And cast thee shuddering on thy face!

The fall thou darest to despise—
May be the angel’s slackened hand
Has suffered it, that he may rise
And take a firmer, surer stand;
Or, trusting less to earthly things,
May henceforth learn to use his wings.

And judge none lost; but wait and see,
With hopeful pity, not disdain;
The depth of the abyss may be
The measure of the height of pain
And love and glory that may raise
This soul to God in after days! —Adelaide Proctor

Poetry Saturday—The Bible: The Light Of The World

A glory gilds the sacred page,
Majestic like the sun:
It gives a light to every age;
It gives, but borrows none.

The Hand that gave it still supplies
The gracious light and heat;
His truths upon the nations rise,
They rise, but never set.

Let everlasting thanks be Thine,
For such a bright display,
As makes a world of darkness shine
With beams of heavenly day.

My soul rejoices to pursue
The steps of Him I love,
Till glory break upon my view
In brighter worlds above. —William Cowper

Poetry Saturday—An Exercise For The Mind Of Christ

The mind—ah!, what a precious gift!
But what a task each day to sift
from every thought just those that lift
and raise us to God’s glory.

But take from Paul each day one phrase,
and seek just one of many ways
which someone dear its truth displays,
and note it, to God’s glory.

Then, when the day at last is through,
share what this person means to you,
how in this one this phrase is true,
for God’s delight and glory.

The mind is precious, but untrained
unless its ways are all constrained
to serve the Lord. Thus shall be gained
for us, eternal glory! —T.M. Moore, inspired by Philippians 4:8

Poetry Saturday—A Lost Opportunity

It came and went so quickly,
   My sluggish soul saw not
The Master stand and beckoning
   Toward one of humble lot.

And I rose not up to follow,
   So slow was I to see,
Till the help I might have given
   Forever fled from me.

And often I am grieving,
   And longing all in vain,
For a blessed opportunity
   That will not come again.

Dear Lord, give Thine anointing,
   And make mine eyes to see;
And make me swift in doing
   The work Thou givest to me. —L. Adda Nichols

Poetry Saturday—Epitaphium Meum

From my years young in days of youth,
God did make known to me His truth,
And call’d me from my native place
For to enjoy the means of grace
In wilderness He did me guide,
And in strange lands for me provide.
In fears and wants, through weal and woe,
As pilgrim passed I to and fro:
Oft left of them whom I did trust;
How vain it is to rest on dust!
A man of sorrows I have been,
And many changes I have seen.
Wars, wants, peace, plenty have I known;
And some advanc’d, others thrown down.
The humble, poor, cheerful and glad;
Rich, discontent, sower and sad:
When fears with sorrows have been mixed,
Consolations came betwixt.
Faint not, poor soul, in God still trust,
Fear not the things thou suffer must;
For, whom He loves He doth chastise,
And then all tears wipes from their eyes.
Farewell, dear children, whom I love,
Your better Father is above:
When I am gone, He can supply;
To Him I leave you when I die.
Fear Him in truth, walk in His ways,
And He will bless you all your days.
My days are spent, old age is come,
My strength it fails, my glass near run:
Now I will wait when work is done,
Until my happy change shall come,
When from my labors I shall rest
With Christ above for to be blest. —William Bradford

Poetry Saturday—The Creator Is Far Nobler

The mirror of the creatures lacks space
To bear the image of the Infinite.
‘Tis true the Lord has fairly writ His name,
And set His seal upon creation’s brow.

But as the skillful potter much excels
The vessel that He fashions on the wheel,
E’en so, but in proportion greater far,
Jehovah’s Self transcends His noblest works.

Earth’s ponderous wheels would break, her axles snap,
If freighted with the load of deity.
Space is too narrow for the Eternal’s rest,
And time too short a footstool for His throne. —Charles Spurgeon

*Charles Spurgeon explained in one of his sermons when and why he wrote this poem: “I have often heard the earth spoken of as the mirror of God’s image. But when I was traveling among the Alps and saw many of the grandest phenomena of creation such as glaciers, avalanches, and tempests, I was so impressed with the narrowness of visible things in comparison with God that I wrote such lines as these.”

Poetry Saturday—Let All Things Now Living

Let all things now living, a song of thanksgiving,
To God the Creator triumphantly raise,
Who fashioned and made us, protected and stayed us,
Who still guides us on to the end of our days.
God’s banners are o’er us, His light goes before us,
A pillar of fire shining forth in the night;
Till shadows have vanished, and darkness is banished,
As forward we travel from light into light.

His law He enforces, the stars in their courses
And sun in its orbit obediently shine,
The hills and the mountains, the rivers and fountains,
The deeps of the ocean proclaim Him divine.
We too should be voicing our love and rejoicing
With glad adoration a song let us raise,
Till all things now living unite in thanksgiving
To God in the highest, hosanna and praise. —Katherine Davis

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