Poetry Saturday—Taladh Chriosda

The Lord my shepherd is and I 
shall not want. He makes me lie 
in green pastures, leads me by 
refreshing waters, still.

Restore my soul, Lord, day by day.
Lead me in Your righteous way 
for Your Name’s sake, Lord, I pray 
according to Your will.

And though through death’s dark vail I go,
I no fear of evil show, 
for Your rod and staff, I know, 
shall guard and comfort still.

A table You before me spread 
in the midst of those I dread, 
and with oil anoint my head.
My cup You overfill.

Thus goodness e’er shall follow me, 
mercy all my path shall see,
Your house shall my dwelling be 
forever after still. —T.M. Moore, in Bricks And Rungs

Poetry Saturday—Thy Ship

Hadst thou a ship, in whose vast hold lay stored
The priceless riches of all climes and lands,
Say, wouldst thou let it float upon the seas
Unpiloted, of fickle winds the sport,
And all the wild waves and hidden rocks the prey?

Thine is that ship; and in its depth concealed
Lies all the wealth of this vast universe—
Yea, lies some part of God’s omnipotence,
The legacy divine of every soul.
Thy will, O man, thy will is that great ship,
And yet behold it drifting here and there—
One moment lying motionless in port,
Then on the high seas by sudden impulse flung,
Then drying on the sands, and yet again
Sent forth on idle quests to no-man’s land
To carry nothing and to nothing bring;
Till, worn and fretted by the aimless strife
And buffeted by vacillating winds,
It founders on the rock, or springs a leak,
With all its unused treasures in the hold.

Go save thy ship, thou sluggard; take the wheel
And steer to knowledge, glory, and success.
Great mariners have made the pathway plain
For thee to follow; hold thou to the course
Of Concentration Channel, and all things
Shall come in answer to thy swerveless wish
As comes the needle to the magnet’s call,
Or sunlight to the prisoned blade of grass
That yearns all winter for the kiss of spring. —Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Poetry Saturday—Not Understood

Not understood. We move along asunder; 
Our paths grow wider as the seasons creep
Along the years; we marvel and we wonder
Why life is life? and then we fall asleep, 
Not understood. 

Not understood, we gather false impressions 
And hug them closer as the years go by; 
Till virtues often seem to us transgressions; 
And thus men rise and fall, and live and die 
Not understood. 

Not understood! Poor souls with stunted vision 
Oft measure giants with their narrow gauge; 
The poisoned shafts of falsehood and derision 
Are oft impelled ‘gainst those who mould the age, 
Not understood. 

Not understood! The secret springs of action 
Which lie beneath the surface and the show, 
Are disregarded; with self-satisfaction 
We judge our neighbours, and they often go 
Not understood. 

Not understood! How trifles often change us! 
The thoughtless sentence and the fancied slight 
Destroy long years of friendship, and estrange us, 
And on our souls there falls a freezing blight; 
Not understood. 

Not understood. How many breasts are aching
For lack of sympathy! Ah! day by day, 
How many cheerless, lonely hearts are breaking! 
How many noble spirits pass away
Not understood. 

Oh, God! that men would see a little clearer, 
Or judge less harshly where they cannot see; 
O God! that men would draw a littler nearer
To one another, they’d be nearer Thee, 
And understood. —Thomas Bracken

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)

Dressed For Victory

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power (Ephesians 6:10).

Not…

  • be strong in my own ability
  • be strong in the company of another warrior

But…

  • be strong in the Lord
  • be strong in the power of His might

The armor I wear has been battle-tested by the undefeated Champion. It’s armor emblazoned with the crimson red blood of Calvary. It’s armor gleaming brightly with the glow of Resurrection victory.

I wear Christ’s armor! 

  • The belt of truth—it’s the righteousness of Jesus (Isaiah 11:1-5)
  • The breastplate of righteousness—worn by the Messiah who defeated evil (Isaiah 59:15-17)
  • The helmet of salvation—worn by Jesus as He won salvation for us (Isaiah 59:16-17)
  • The shoes of the gospel of peace—worn by our Lord as He defeated our enemies (Isaiah 52:5-7)
  • The shield of faith—God says, “I am your shield” (Genesis 15:1)
  • The sword of the Spirit—what Jesus used to strike down satan’s temptations (Isaiah 49:1-2; Luke 4:4, 8, 12)

I must continually clothe myself in God’s armor. Then I keep the armor bright by prayer—

Restraining prayer, we cease to fight 
Prayer makes the Christian’s armor bright 
And satan trembles when he sees 
The weakest saint upon his knees. (William Cowper)

Holy God, may I be dressed in YOU at every moment. May I daily use YOUR battle-tested armor and weapons to strike a blow against satan! 

(Check out all the Scripture references above by clicking here.)

Poetry Saturday—Where The Roses Never Fade

I am going to a city where the streets with gold are laid
Where the tree of life is blooming and the roses never fade.
Here they bloom but for a season—soon their beauty is decayed
But I am going to a city where the roses never fade. 

In this world we have our troubles, satan’s snares we must evade
We’ll be free from all temptation where the roses never fade.
Here they bloom but for a season—soon their beauty is decayed
But I am going to a city where the roses never fade. 

Loved one gone to be with Jesus in their robes of white arrayed
Now are waiting for my coming where the roses never fade.
Here they bloom but for a season—soon their beauty is decayed
But I am going to a city where the roses never fade. —variously attributed to Elsie Osborn, Jack Osborn, or Jim Miller (the handwritten copy is from Russell Coffield, my wife’s grandfather, and was read at his funeral) 

Poetry Saturday—Walking With God

Alas, my God, that we should be
Such Strangers to each other!
O that as Friends we might agree,
And walk, and talk together!
Thou know’st my Soul doth dearly love
The Place of Thine Abode;
No Music drops so sweet a Sound,
As those two words, My God.

I long not for the Fruit that grows
Within these Gardens here;
I find no sweetness in their Rose
When Jesus is not near:
Thy gracious Presence, O my Christ
Can make a Paradise;
Ah, what are all the goodly Pearls
Unto this Pearl of Price!

May I taste that Communion, Lord,
Thy people have with Thee?
Thy Spirit daily talks with them,
O let it talk with me!
Like Enoch, let me walk with God,
And thus walk out my Day,
Attended with the Heavenly Guards
Upon the King’s High-way.

When wilt Thou come unto me, Lord?
O come, my Lord most dear!
Come near, come nearer, nearer still;
I’m well when Thou art near.
When wilt Thou come unto me, Lord?
I languish for Thy Sight;
Ten Thousand Suns, if Thou art Strange,
Are shades instead of Light.

When wilt Thou come unto me, Lord?
For, till Thou dost appear,
I count each Moment for a Day,
Each Minute for a Year.
Come, Lord and never from me go,
This World’s a darksome Place;
I find no Pleasure here below,
When Thou dost veil Thy Face.

There’s no such Thing as Pleasure here;
My JESUS is my All;
As Thou didst shine or disappear,
My pleasures rise and fall.
Come, spread Thy Savour on my Frame,
No sweetness is so sweet;
Till I get up to sing Thy Name,
Where all Thy Singers meet. —Thomas Shepherd

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