Poetry Saturday—Indispensable Man

Sometime when you’re feeling important;
Sometime when your ego’s in bloom;
Sometime when you take for granted
You’re the best qualified in the room.

Sometime when you feel that your going
Would leave an unfillable hole;
Just follow this simple instruction,
And see how it humbles your soul.

Take a bucket and fill it with water,
Put your hand in it up to the wrist;
Pull it out and the hole that’s remaining,
Is a measure of how you’ll be missed.

You may splash all you please when you enter,
You can stir up the water galore;
But stop and you’ll find in a minute,
That it looks quite the same as before.

The moral of this quaint example
Is to do just the best that you can;
Be proud of yourself, but remember
There’s no indispensable man —Saxon White Kessinger

Poetry Saturday—The Children’s Hour

Between the dark and the daylight,
      When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day’s occupations,
      That is known as the Children’s Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
      The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
      And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
      Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
      And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:
      Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
      To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
      A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
      They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret
      O’er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
      They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
      Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
      In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
      Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
      Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,
      And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
      In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
      Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
      And moulder in dust away! —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Poetry Saturday—Hymn #120

What shall the dying sinner do
That seeks relief for all his woe?
Where shall the guilty conscience find
Ease for the torment of his mind?

How shall we get our crimes forgiv’n?
Or form our natures fit for heav’n?
Can souls all o’er defiled with sin
Make their own powers and passions clean?

In vain we search, in vain we try,
Till Jesus brings His gospel nigh;
‘Tis there such power and glory dwell
As save rebellious souls from hell.

This is the pillar of our hope
That bears our fainting spirits up:
We read the grace, we trust the Word,
And find salvation in the Lord.

Let men or angels dig the mines,
Where nature’s golden treasure shines;
Brought near the doctrine of the Cross,
All nature’s gold appears but dross.

Should vile blasphemers with distain
Pronounce the truth of Jesus vain,
I’ll meet the scandal and the shame,
And sing and triumph in His name. —Isaac Watts

Poetry Saturday—The Nativity

Among the oxen (like an ox I’m slow)
I see a glory in the stable grow
Which, with the ox’s dullness might at length
   Give me an ox’s strength.

Among the asses (stubborn I as they)
I see my Savior where I looked for hay;
So may my beastlike folly learn at least
   The patience of a beast.

Among the sheep (I like a sheep have strayed)
I watch the manger where my Lord is laid;
Oh that my baa-ing nature would win thence
   Some wooly innocence! —C.S. Lewis

Poetry Saturday—Of The Father’s Love Begotten

Of the Father’s love begotten
ere the worlds began to be,
He is Alpha and Omega,
He the Source, the Ending He,
of the things that are, that have been,
and that future years shall see,
evermore and evermore!

O that birth forever blessed,
when the Virgin, full of grace,
by the Holy Ghost conceiving,
bore the Savior of our race;
and the Babe, the world’s Redeemer,
first revealed His sacred face,
evermore and evermore!

This is He whom heav’n-taught singers
sang of old with one accord,
whom the Scriptures of the prophets
promised in their faithful word;
now He shines, the long expected;
let creation praise its Lord,
evermore and evermore!

O ye heights of heav’n, adore Him;
angel hosts, His praises sing:
all dominions, bow before Him
and extol our God and King;
let no tongue on earth be silent,
ev’ry voice in concert ring,
evermore and evermore!

Christ, to Thee, with God the Father,
and, O Holy Ghost, to Thee,
hymn and chant and high thanksgiving
and unwearied praises be,
honor, glory, and dominion
and eternal victory,
evermore and evermore! —Aurelius Clemens Prudentius

Poetry Saturday—Merry…

No one’s hangin’ stockin’s up,
No one’s bakin’ pie,
No one’s lookin’ up to see
A new star in the sky.
No one’s talkin’ brotherhood,
No one’s givin’ gifts,
And no one loves a Christmas tree
On March the twenty-fifth. —Shel Silverstein

Poetry Saturday—I Can Do Something

I may not do much with all my care,

But I surely may bless a few;
The loving Jesus will give to me
Some work of love to do;
I may wipe the tears from some weeping eyes,
I may bring the smile again
To a face that is weary and worn with care,
To a heart that is full of pain.

I may speak His name to the sorrowful,
As I journey by their side;
To the sinful and despairing ones
I may preach of the Crucified.
I may drop some little gentle word
In the midst of some scene of strife;
I may comfort the sick and the dying
With a thought of eternal life. —Marianne Farningham

Poetry Saturday—Make My House A Home

The house is quiet

And I don’t like it

It just feels like a house

My stuff is all here

It’s all in its place

It just feels like a house

I need some banter

Perhaps some laughter

To make this house my home

Some hugs would be nice

Maybe a cuddle

To make this house my home —Craig T. Owens

Poetry Saturday—You-er Than You

Today you are you, that is truer than true.
There is no one alive who is you-er than you.
Shout aloud, I am glad to be what I am.
Thank goodness I’m not a ham, or a clam,
or a dusty old jar of gooseberry jam.
I am what I am, what a great thing to be.
If I say so myself, happy everyday to me! —Dr. Seuss

Poetry Saturday—Keep Your Lips From Slips

If your lips would keep from slips,
Five things observe with care;
To whom you speak, of whom you speak,
And how, and when, and where. —William Edward Norris
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