Poetry Saturday—Ready To Blaze

June 3, 2017 — Craig T. Owens
If we with earnest effort could succeed
   To make our life one long connected Prayer,
As lives of some perhaps have been and are:—
If—never leaving Thee—we had no need
Our wandering spirits back again to lead
   Into Thy presence, but continued there,
   Like angels standing on the highest stair
Of the sapphire throne―this were to pray indeed!
   But if distractions manifold prevail,
   And if in this we must confess we fail,
Grant us to keep at least a prompt desire,
   Continual readiness for Prayer and Praise—
An altar heaped and waiting to take fire
   With the least spark, and leap into a blaze! ―Richard Trench
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Poetry Saturday—Abide With Me

May 27, 2017 — Craig T. Owens
Abide with me: fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide.
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.


Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;


Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away.


Change and decay in all around I see.


O Lord who changes not, abide with me.




I need Your presence every passing hour.


What but Your grace can foil the tempter’s power?


Who like Yourself my guide and strength can be?


Through cloud and sunshine, O abide with me.




I fear no foe with You at hand to bless,


Though ills have weight, and tears their bitterness.


Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, your victory?


I triumph still, if You abide with me.




Hold now Your Word before my closing eyes.


Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies.


Heaven’s morning breaks and earth’s vain shadows flee;


In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me. —Henry Francis Lyte










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Poetry Saturday—Happy In Him

May 20, 2017 — Craig T. Owens 








…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. —John Newton










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Poetry Saturday—Mother, Home, Heaven

May 13, 2017 — Craig T. Owens 




Three words fall sweetly on my soul,


As music from an angel’s lyre, 
That bid my spirit spurn control, 


And upward to its source aspire; 
The sweetest sounds to mortals given 
Are heard in Mother, Home, and Heaven. 




Dear Mother!—ne’er shall I forget 
Thy brow, thine eye, thy pleasant smile; 


Though in the sea of death hath set 
Thy star of life, my guide awhile, 


Oh, never shall thy form depart


From the bright pictures in my heart.




And like a bird that from the flowers, 
Wing-weary seeks her wonted nest, 


My spirit, e’en in manhood’s hours, 
Turns back in childhood’s Home to rest; 


The cottage, garden, hill, and stream,


Still linger like a pleasant dream.




And while to one engulfing grave 
By Time’s swift tide we’re driven, 


How sweet the thought that every wave 
But bears us nearer Heaven! 


There we shall meet, when life is o’er,


In that blest Home, to part no more. —William Goldsmith Brown






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Poetry Saturday—In Heavenly Love Abiding

May 6, 2017 — Craig T. Owens 








Wherever He may guide me,


No want shall turn me back;


My Shepherd is beside me,


And nothing can I lack.


His wisdom ever waketh,


His sight is never dim:


He knows the way He taketh,


And I will walk with Him.




Green pastures are before me,


Which yet I have not seen;


Bright skies will soon be o’er me,


Where the dark clouds have been.


My hope I cannot measure:


My path to life is free:


My Savior has my treasure,


And He will walk with me. —Anna Laetitia Waring










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Poetry Saturday—Gazing On Jesus

April 29, 2017 — Craig T. Owens 








Jesus, I am resting, resting


In the joy of what Thou art,


I am finding out the greatness


Of Thy loving heart.


Here I gaze and gaze upon Thee,


As Thy beauty fills my soul,


For by Thy transforming power,


Thou hast made me whole. —Jean Sophia Pigott












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Poetry Saturday—God Is Present Everywhere

April 22, 2017 — Craig T. Owens 




They who seek the throne of grace


Find that throne in every place;


If we live a life of prayer,


God is present everywhere.




In our sickness and our health,


In our want, or in our wealth,


If we look to God in prayer,


God is present everywhere.




When our earthly comforts fail,


When the woes of life prevail,


‘Tis the time for earnest prayer;


God is present everywhere.




Then, my soul, in every strait,


To thy Father come, and wait;


He will answer every prayer:


God is present everywhere. —Oliver Holden






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Poetry Saturday—See How The Patient Jesus Stands

April 15, 2017 — Craig T. Owens 




See how the patient Jesus stands,


Insulted in His lowest case!


Sinners have bound the Almighty hands,


And spit in their Creator’s face.




With thorns His temple gored and gashed


Send streams of blood from every part;


His back’s with knotted scourges lashed,


But sharper scourges tear His heart.




Nailed naked to the accursed wood


Exposed to earth and heaven above,


A spectacle of wounds and blood,


A prodigy of injured love!




Hark! how His doleful cries affright


Affected angels, while they view;


His friends forsook Him in the night,


And now His God forsakes Him too!




Behold that pale, that languid face,


That drooping head, those languid eyes!


Behold in sorrow and disgrace


Our conquering Hero hangs, and dies!




Ye that assume His sacred name,


Now tell me, what can all this mean?


What was it bruised God’s harmless Lamb,


What was it pierced His soul but sin?




Blush, Christian, blush: let shame abound:


If sin affects thee not with woe,


Whatever life is in thee found,


The life of Christ thou doest not know. —Joseph Hart






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Poetry Saturday—The Monster Death

April 8, 2017 — Craig T. Owens 




Break off your tears, ye saints, and tell


How high your great Deliverer reigns;


Sing how He spoiled the hosts of hell,


And led the monster death in chains:


Say, Live forever, wondrous King!


Born to redeem, and strong to save;


Then ask the monster, Where’s thy sting?


And, Where’s thy victory, boasting grave? —Isaac Watts






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Poetry Saturday—Grace Great Enough

April 1, 2017 — Craig T. Owens 








God’s grace is great enough to meet the great things—


The crashing waves that overwhelm the soul,


The roaring winds that leave us stunned and breathless,


The sudden storms beyond our life’s control.


His grace is great enough to meet the small things—


The little pinprick troubles that annoy,


The insect worries, buzzing and persistent,


The squeaking wheels that grate upon our joy. —Annie Johnson Flint










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