Poetry Saturday—Want Of Understanding

The wretch in me is not a scheming or
mendacious, violent spirit; nor is he
the sort to kill, or other treachery
indulge to gain a another’s vineyard for
himself. He does not with his neighbor’s wife
conspire for fleeting pleasure, or to buy
prestige or safeguard pride, some little lie
compose. He does not plot against the life
of those who scorn, spite, torment, or betray
him; and he holds no grudges, has no need
of vain revenge, avoids self-serving greed,
and keeps content within his given way.
   No, he is worse than all of the above,
   who honors not the wife he’s sworn to love. —T. M. Moore (1 Peter 3:7)

Poetry Saturday—Hark! The Sound Of Jubilee

Hark! the song of jubilee,
Loud as mighty thunders roar,
Or the fullness of the sea,
When it breaks upon the shore:
“Hallelujah! for the Lord
God Omnipotent shall reign;
Hallelujah!” let the word
Echo round the earth and main.

Hallelujah! hark! the sound,
From the depths unto the skies.
Wakes above, beneath, around
All creation’s harmonies;
See Jehovah’s banner furled,
Sheathed His sword; He speaks; ‘tis done;
And the kingdoms of this world
Are the kingdoms of His Son.

He shall reign from pole to pole
With illimitable sway;
He shall reign when, like a scroll,
Yonder heavens have passed away.
Then the end; beneath His rod
Man’s last enemy shall fall:
Hallelujah! Christ in God,
God in Christ is All in All. —James Montgomery

Poetry Saturday—Lester

Lester was given a magic wish 
By the goblin who lived in the banyan tree, 
And with his wish he wished for two more wishes—
So now instead of just one wish, he cleverly had three.
And with each one of these 
He simply wished for three more wishes,
Which gave him three old wishes, plus nine new.
And with each of these twelve 
He slyly wished for three more wishes, 
Which added up to forty-six—or is it fifty-two? 
Well anyway, he used each wish 
To wish for more wishes ’til he had
Five billion, seven million, eighteen thousand thirty-four. 
And then he spread them on the ground 
And clapped his hands and danced around 
And skipped and sang, and then sat down 
And wished for more.
And more … and more … they multiplied 
While other people smiled and cried 
And loved and reached and touched and felt.
Lester sat amid his wealth 
Stacked mountain-high like stacks of gold, 
Sat and counted—and grew old.
And then one Thursday night they found him
Dead—with his wishes piled around him.
And they counted the lot and found that not 
A single one was missing.
All shiny and new—here, take a few 
And think of Lester as you do.
In a world of apples and kisses and shoes
He wasted his wishes on wishing. —Shel Silverstein

Poetry Saturday—The Spirit-Filled Life

O the Spirit-filled life; is it thine, is it thine?
Is thy soul wholly filled with the Spirit Divine?
O thou child of the King, has He fallen on thee?
Does He reign in thy soul, so that all men may see
The dear Savior’s blest image reflected in thee?
Has He swept through thy soul like the waves of the sea?
Does the Spirit of God daily rest upon thee?
Does He sweeten thy life, does He keep thee from care?
Does He guide thee and bless thee in answer to prayer?
Is it joy to be led of the Lord anywhere?
Is He near thee each hour, does He stand at thy side?
Does He gird thee with strength, has He come to abide?
Does He give thee to know that all things may be done
Through the grace and the power of the Crucified One?
Does He witness to thee of the glorified Son?
Has He purged thee of dross with the fire from above?
Is He first in thy thoughts, has He all of thy love?
Is His service thy choice, and is sacrifice sweet?
Is the doing His will both thy drink and thy meat?
Dost thou run at His bidding with glad eager feet?
Has He freed thee from self and from all of thy greed?
Dost thou hasten to succor thy brother in need?
As a soldier of Christ dost thou hardness endure?
Is thy hope in the Lord everlasting and sure?
Hast thou patience and meekness, art tender and pure?
O the Spirit-filled life may be thine, may be thine,
In thy soul evermore the Shekinah may shine;
It is thine to live with the tempests all stilled,
It is thine with the blessed Holy Ghost to be filled;
It is thine, even thine, for thy Lord has so willed. —Lettie Cowman

Poetry Saturday—The Precious Blood

Before Your Cross I kneel and see
the heinousness of my sin,
my iniquity that caused You to be
‘made a curse,’
the evil that excites the severity of divine wrath.

Show me the enormity of my guilt by
the crown of thorns,
the pierced hands and feet,
the bruised body,
the dying cries.

Your blood is the blood of incarnate God,
its worth infinite, its value beyond all thought.
Infinite must be the evil and guilt
that demands such a price.

Sin is my condition, my monster, my foe, my viper,
born in my birth,
alive in my life,
strong in my character,
dominating my faculties
following me as a shadow,
intermingling with my every thought,
my chain that holds me captive in the empire of my soul.

Sinner that I am, why should the sun give me light,
the air supply breath,
the earth bear my treat,
its fruit nourish me,
its creatures serve my ends?

Yet, Your compassion yearns over me,
Your heart hastens to my rescue,
Your love endured my curse,
Your mercy bore my deserved stripes.

Let me walk humbly in the lowest depths of humility,
bathed in Your blood
tender of conscience,
triumphing gloriously as an heir of salvation. —Arthur Bennett

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

Gone From My Sight

   I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

   Then someone at my side says, “There, she is gone!”

   “Gone where?”

   Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side, and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.

   Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says, “There, she is gone,” there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, “Here she comes!” —Henry Van Dyke

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