Poetry Saturday—God, Thou Art Love

February 23, 2019 — Craig T. Owens
If I forget,
Yet God remembers! If these hands of mine
Cease from their clinging, yet the hands divine
Hold me so firmly that I cannot fall;
And if sometimes I am too tired to call
For Him to help me, then He reads the prayer 
Unspoken in my heart, and lifts my care.


I dare not fear, since certainly I know


That I am in God’s keeping, shielded so 


From all that else would harm, and in His power;


I tread no path in life to Him unknown;


Lift no burden, bear no pain, alone.


My soul a calm, sure hiding place has found:


The arms my life surround.




God, Thou art love! I build my faith on that.


I know Thee who has kept my path and made


Light for me in the darkness, tempering sorrow


So that it reached me like a solemn joy;


It were too strange that I should doubt Thy love. —Robert Browning










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Poetry Saturday—Awake My Soul

February 16, 2019 — Craig T. Owens 






Awake, my soul, and with the sun 


Thy daily stage of duty run; 


Shake off dull sloth, and joyful rise, 


To pay thy morning sacrifice. 


Thy precious time misspent, redeem, 


Each present day thy last esteem, 


Improve thy talent with due care; 


For the great day thyself prepare. 


By influence of the Light divine 


Let thy own light to others shine. 


Reflect all Heaven’s propitious ways 


In ardent love, and cheerful praise. 


In conversation be sincere; 


Keep conscience as the noontide clear; 


Think how all seeing God thy ways 


And all thy secret thoughts surveys. —Thomas Ken








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Poetry Saturday—Christ In Me

February 9, 2019 — Craig T. Owens 




What would it be like? To have Christ within?


To have my voice, but Him speaking.


My steps, but Christ leading.


My heart, but His love beating


in me, through me, with me.


What’s it like to have Christ on the inside?




To tap His strength when mine expires


or feel the force of heaven’s fires


raging, purging wrong desires.


Could Christ become my self entire?




So much Him, so little me


that in my eyes it’s Him they see.


No longer I, but Christ in me. —Max Lucado






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Poetry Saturday—Above All

February 2, 2019 — Craig T. Owens 






Grant me, sweet Jesus, to rest in You above every creature; 


above all health and beauty, 


above all glory and honor, 


above all power and dignity,


above all knowledge and skillfulness, 


above all riches and arts, 


above all joy and exultation, 


above all fame and praise, 


above all sweetness and consolation, 


above all hope and promise, 


above all gifts that You can give, 


above all joy the mind is able to receive; 


above everything that You, O my God, are not. —Thomas à Kempis








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Poetry Saturday—I Am Praying

January 26, 2019 — Craig T. Owens 




 








I am praying, blessed Savior,




To be more and more like Thee;


I am praying that Thy Spirit


Like a dove may rest on me.




Thou who knowest all my weakness,


Thou who knowest all my care,


While I plead each precious promise,


Hear, oh hear, and answer prayer.




I am praying to be humbled


By the power of grace divine,


To be clothed upon with meekness,


And to have no will but Thine. —Fanny Crosby








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Poetry Saturday—Against A Thorn

January 19, 2019 — Craig T. Owens 




 




Once I heard a song of sweetness,


As it cleft the morning air,


Sounding in its blest completeness,


Like a tender, pleading prayer;


And I sought to find the singer,


Whence the wondrous song was borne;


And I found a bird, sore wounded,


Pinioned by a cruel thorn.


 


I have seen a soul in sadness,


While its wings with pain were furl’d,


Giving hope, and cheer and gladness


That should bless a weeping world;


And I knew that life of sweetness,


Was of pain and sorrow raw borne,


And a stricken soul was singing,


With its heart against a thorn.


 


Ye are told of One who loved you,


Of a Saviour crucified,


Ye are told of nails that pinioned,


And a spear that pierced His side;


Ye are told of cruel scourging,


Of a Saviour bearing scorn,


And He died for your salvation,


With His brow against a thorn.


 


Ye “are not above the Master.”


Will you breathe a sweet refrain?


And His grace will be sufficient,


When your heart is pierced with pain.


Will you live to bless His loved ones,


Tho’ your life be bruised and torn,


Like the bird that sang so sweetly,


With its heart against a thorn? —Carrie Ellis Breck








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Poetry Saturday—In Light Or Darkness

January 12, 2019 — Craig T. Owens 




 




If God says “Yes” to our prayer, dear heart,


And the sunlight is golden, the sky is blue,


While the smooth road beckons to me and you,


And the song-birds warble as on we go,


Pausing to gather the buds at our feet,


Stopping to drink of the streamlets we meet,


Happy, more happy, our journey will grow,


If God says “Yes” to our prayer, dear heart.




If God says “No” to our prayer, dear heart,


And the clouds hang heavy and dull and gray;


If the rough rocks hinder and block the way,


While the sharp winds pierce us and sting with cold;


Ah, dear, there is home at the journey’s end,


And these are the trials the Father doth send


To draw us as sheep to His Heavenly fold,


If God says “No” to our prayer, dear heart. —Jessie E. Schindle








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Poetry Saturday—Exhortation To Prayer

January 5, 2019 — Craig T. Owens 




William CowperWhat various hindrances we meet


In coming to a mercy-seat!


Yet who that knows the worth of prayer,


But wishes to be often there?




Prayer makes the darken’d cloud withdraw,


Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw,


Gives exercise to faith and love,


Brings every blessing from above.




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.




While Moses stood with arms spread wide,


Success was found on Israel’s side;


But when through weariness they fail’d,


That moment Amalek prevail’d.




Have you no words? Ah! think again,


Words flow apace when you complain,


And fill your fellow-creature’s ear


With the sad tale of all your care.




Were half the breath thus vainly spent


To Heaven in supplication sent,


Your cheerful song would oftener be,


“Hear what the Lord has done for me.” —William Cowper














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Poetry Saturday—Joy In The Presence Of Jesus

December 29, 2018 — Craig T. Owens 




How tedious and tasteless the hours


When Jesus no longer I see!


Sweet prospects, sweet birds, and sweet flowers,


Have all lost their sweetness to me;




The midsummer sun shines but dim,


The fields strive in vain to look gay;


But when I am happy in Him,


December’s as pleasant as May.




His Name yields the richest perfume,


And sweeter than music His voice;


His presence disburses my gloom,


And makes all within me rejoice;


I should, were He always thus nigh,


Have nothing to wish or to fear;


No mortal so happy as I,


My summer would last all the year.




Content with beholding His face,


My all to His pleasure resign’d,


No changes of season err place


Would make any change in my mind:


While blest with a sense of His love,


A palace a toy would appear;


And prisons would palaces prove,


If Jesus would dwell with me there. 




My Lord, if indeed I am Thine,


If Thou art my sun and my song,


Say, why do I languish and pine?


And why are my winters so long?


O drive these dark clouds from my sky;


Thy soul-cheering presence restore;


Or take me to Thee up on high,


Where winter and clouds are no more. —John Newton






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Poetry Saturday—At Christmas

December 22, 2018 — Craig T. Owens 




Edgar A. Guest


A man is at his finest
     towards the finish of the year;
He is almost what he should be
     when the Christmas season is here;
Then he’s thinking more of others
     than he’s thought the months before,
And the laughter of his children
     is a joy worth toiling for.
He is less a selfish creature than
     at any other time;
When the Christmas spirit rules him
     he comes close to the sublime.




When it’s Christmas man is bigger


     and is better in his part;


He is keener for the service


     that is prompted by the heart.


All the petty thoughts and narrow


     seem to vanish for awhile


And the true reward he’s seeking


     is the glory of a smile.


Then for others he is toiling and


     somehow it seems to me


That at Christmas he is almost


     what God wanted him to be.




If I had to paint a picture of a man


     I think I’d wait


Till he’d fought his selfish battles


     and had put aside his hate.


I’d not catch him at his labors


     when his thoughts are all of pelf,


On the long days and the dreary


     when he’s striving for himself.


I’d not take him when he’s sneering,


     when he’s scornful or depressed,


But I’d look for him at Christmas


     when he’s shining at his best.




Man is ever in a struggle


     and he’s oft misunderstood;


There are days the worst that’s in him


     is the master of the good,


But at Christmas kindness rules him


     and he puts himself aside


And his petty hates are vanquished


     and his heart is opened wide.


Oh, I don’t know how to say it,


     but somehow it seems to me


That at Christmas man is almost


     what God sent him here to be. —Edgar Guest


 






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