Poetry Saturday—God Is Sufficient

George MacDonaldIt is easy to love Him when the blue is in the sky, 
When summer winds are blowing, and we smell the roses nigh; 
There is little effort needed to obey His precious will 
When it leads through flower-decked valley, or over sun-kissed hill.

It is when the rain is falling, or the mist hangs in the air, 
When the road is dark and rugged, and the wind no longer fair, 
When the rosy dawn has settled in a shadowland of gray, 
That we find it hard to trust Him, and are slower to obey.

It is easy to trust Him when the singing birds have come, 
And their canticles are echoed in our heart and in our home; 
But ’tis when we miss the music, and the days are dull and drear, 
That we need a faith triumphant over every doubt and fear.

And our blessed Lord will give it; what we lack He will supply; 
Let us ask in faith believing—on His promises rely; 
He will ever be our Leader, whether smooth or rough the way, 
And will prove Himself sufficient for the needs of every day. —George MacDonald

Poetry Saturday—Red Sea Place

 

Annie Johnson FlintHave you come to the Red Sea place in your life,
Where, in spite of all you can do,
There is no way out, there is no way back,
There is no other way but through?
Then wait on the Lord, with a trust serene,
Till the night of your fear is gone;
He will send the winds, He will heap the floods,
When He says to your soul, “Go.”

And His Hand shall lead you through, clear through,
Ere the watery walls roll down;
No wave can touch you, no foe can smite,
No mightiest sea can drown.
The tossing billows may rear their crests,
Their foam at your feet may break,
But over their bed you shall walk dry-shod
In the path that your Lord shall make.

In the morning watch, ‘neath the lifted cloud,
You shall see but the Lord alone,
When He leads you forth from the place of the sea,
And your fears shall pass as your foes have passed,
You shall no more be afraid;
You shall sing His praise in a better place,
In a place that His Hand hath made. —Annie Johnson Flint

Poetry Saturday—Is It Raining?

FullSizeRender 12Is it raining, little flower?
     Be glad of rain;
Too much sun would wither one;
     It will shine again.
The clouds are very dark, it’s true;
But just behind them shines the blue.

Are you weary, tender heart?
     Be glad of pain:
In sorrow, sweetest virtues grow,
     As flowers in rain.
God watches, and you will have sun,
When clouds their perfect work have done. —Lucy Larcom

Poetry Saturday—Wits’ End Corner

Wits' endAre you standing at “Wits’ End Corner,” 
   Christian, with troubled brow? 
Are you thinking of what is before you, 
   And all you are bearing now?
Does all the world seem against you, 
   And you in the battle alone?
Remember—at “Wits’ End Corner” 
   Is where God’s power is shown.

Are you standing at “Wits’ End Corner” 
   Blinded with wearying pain,
Feeling you cannot endure it, 
   You cannot bear the strain,
Bruised through the constant suffering 
   Dizzy and dazed, and numb?
Remember—at “Wits’ End Corner” 
   Is where Jesus loves to come.

Are you standing at “Wits’ End Corner” 
   Your work before you spread.
Or lying begun, unfinished, 
   And pressing on heart and head,
Longing for strength to do it, 
   Stretching out trembling hands
Remember—at “Wits’ End Corner” 
   The Burden-Bearer stands.

Are you standing at “Wits’ End Corner”? 
   Then you’re just in the very spot
To learn the wondrous resources 
   Of Him who faileth not!
No doubt to a brighter pathway 
   Your footsteps will soon be moved,
But only at “Wits’ End Corner” 
Is the “God who is able” proved. —Antoinette Wilson

Poetry Saturday—Some And Some More

FullSizeRender 4Some have much, and some have more,
Some are rich, and some are poor,
Some have little, some have less,
Some have not a cent to bless
Their empty pockets, yet possess
True riches in true happiness. —John Oxenham

Poetry Saturday—Garden Of Trust

FullSizeRenderBuild a little fence of trust
Around today;
Fill the space with loving work,
And therein stay;
Look not through the sheltering bars
Upon tomorrow;
God will help thee bear what comes
Of joy or sorrow. —Mary Frances Butts

Poetry Saturday—The Loom Of Time

FullSizeRender 3Man’s life is laid in the loom of time
To a pattern he does not see,
While the Weaver’s work and the shuttles fly
Till the dawn of eternity.

Some shuttles are filled with silver threads
And some with threads of gold,
While often but the darker hues
Are all that they may hold.

But the Weaver watches with skillful eye
Each shuttle fly to and fro,
And sees the pattern so deftly wrought
As the loom moves sure and slow.

God surely planned the pattern:
Each thread, the dark and fair,
Is chosen by His master skill
And placed in the web with care.

He only knows its beauty,
And guides the shuttles which hold
The threads so unattractive,
As well as the threads of gold.

Not till each loom is silent,
And the shuttles cease to fly,
Shall God reveal the pattern
And explain the reason why.

The dark threads were as needful
In the Weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
For the pattern which He planned. —Anonymous

Poetry Saturday—The Eye Of The Storm

IMG_3491Fear not the whirlwind will carry you hence,
Nor wait for its onslaught in breathless suspense,
Nor shrink from the blight of the terrible hail,
But pass through the edge to the heart of the gale,
For there is a shelter, sunlighted and warm,
And Faith sees her God through the eye of the storm.

The passionate tempest with rush and wild roar
And threatenings of evil may beat on the shore,
The waves may be mountains, the fields battle plains,
And the earth be immersed in a deluge of rains,
Yet, the soul, stayed on God, may sing bravely its psalm,
For the heart of the storm is the center of calm.

Let hope be not quenched in the blackness of night,
Though the cyclone a while may have blotted the light,
For behind the great darkness the stars ever shine,
And the light of God’s heavens, His love will make thine,
Let no gloom dim your eyes, but uplift them on high
To the face of your God and the blue of His sky.

The storm is your shelter from danger and sin,
And God Himself takes you for safety within;
The tempest with Him passes into deep calm,
And the roar of the winds is the sounds of a psalm.
Be glad and serene when the tempest clouds form;
God smiles on His child in the eye of the storm. —Anonymous

Poetry Saturday—Abandoned

DSC_0004Utterly abandoned to the will of God;
Seeking for no other path than my Master trod;
Leaving ease and pleasure, making Him my choice,
Waiting for His guidance, listening for His voice.

Utterly abandoned! No will of my own;
For time and for eternity, His, and His alone;
All my plans and purposes lost in His sweet will,
Having nothing, yet in Him all things possessing still.

Utterly abandoned! It’s so sweet to be
Captive in His bonds of love, yet wondrously free;
Free from sin’s entanglements, free from doubt and fear,
Free from every worry, burden, grief, or care.

Lo! He comes and fills me, Holy Spirit sweet!
I, in Him, am satisfied! I, in Him, complete!
And the light within my soul will never more grow dim
While I keep my covenant—abandoned unto Him! —Anonymous

Poetry Saturday—Forgive

 F.B. Meyer

If my soul has turned perversely to the dark;
If I have left some brother wounded by the way;
If I have preferred my aims to Yours;
If I have been impatient and would not wait;
If I have marred the pattern drawn out for my life;
If I have cost tears to those I loved;
If my heart has murmured against Your will,
O Lord, forgive. —F. B. Meyer