Poetry Saturday—Judge Not

October 3, 2020 — Craig T. Owens
Judge not; the workings of his brain
And of his heart thou canst not see;
What looks to thy dim eyes a stain,
In God’s pure light may only be
A scar, brought from some well-won field,
Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.


The look, the air, that frets thy sight,


May be a token that below


The soul has closed in deadly fight


With some infernal fiery foe,


Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace,


And cast thee shuddering on thy face!




The fall thou darest to despise—


May be the angel’s slackened hand


Has suffered it, that he may rise


And take a firmer, surer stand;


Or, trusting less to earthly things,


May henceforth learn to use his wings.




And judge none lost; but wait and see,


With hopeful pity, not disdain;


The depth of the abyss may be


The measure of the height of pain


And love and glory that may raise


This soul to God in after days! —Adelaide Proctor








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Poetry Saturday—The Bible: The Light Of The World

September 19, 2020 — Craig T. Owens 




A glory gilds the sacred page,


Majestic like the sun:


It gives a light to every age;


It gives, but borrows none.




The Hand that gave it still supplies


The gracious light and heat;


His truths upon the nations rise,


They rise, but never set.




Let everlasting thanks be Thine,


For such a bright display,


As makes a world of darkness shine


With beams of heavenly day.




My soul rejoices to pursue


The steps of Him I love,


Till glory break upon my view


In brighter worlds above. —William Cowper








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Poetry Saturday—An Exercise For The Mind Of Christ

September 12, 2020 — Craig T. Owens 




The mind—ah!, what a precious gift!


But what a task each day to sift


from every thought just those that lift


and raise us to God’s glory.




But take from Paul each day one phrase,


and seek just one of many ways


which someone dear its truth displays,


and note it, to God’s glory.




Then, when the day at last is through,


share what this person means to you,


how in this one this phrase is true,


for God’s delight and glory.




The mind is precious, but untrained


unless its ways are all constrained


to serve the Lord. Thus shall be gained


for us, eternal glory! —T.M. Moore, inspired by Philippians 4:8








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Poetry Saturday—A Lost Opportunity

September 5, 2020 — Craig T. Owens 




It came and went so quickly,


   My sluggish soul saw not


The Master stand and beckoning


   Toward one of humble lot.




And I rose not up to follow,


   So slow was I to see,


Till the help I might have given


   Forever fled from me.




And often I am grieving,


   And longing all in vain,


For a blessed opportunity


   That will not come again.




Dear Lord, give Thine anointing,


   And make mine eyes to see;


And make me swift in doing


   The work Thou givest to me. —L. Adda Nichols








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Poetry Saturday—Epitaphium Meum

August 29, 2020 — Craig T. Owens 




From my years young in days of youth,


God did make known to me His truth,


And call’d me from my native place


For to enjoy the means of grace


In wilderness He did me guide,


And in strange lands for me provide.


In fears and wants, through weal and woe,


As pilgrim passed I to and fro:


Oft left of them whom I did trust;


How vain it is to rest on dust!


A man of sorrows I have been,


And many changes I have seen.


Wars, wants, peace, plenty have I known;


And some advanc’d, others thrown down.


The humble, poor, cheerful and glad;


Rich, discontent, sower and sad:


When fears with sorrows have been mixed,


Consolations came betwixt.


Faint not, poor soul, in God still trust,


Fear not the things thou suffer must;


For, whom He loves He doth chastise,


And then all tears wipes from their eyes.


Farewell, dear children, whom I love,


Your better Father is above:


When I am gone, He can supply;


To Him I leave you when I die.


Fear Him in truth, walk in His ways,


And He will bless you all your days.


My days are spent, old age is come,


My strength it fails, my glass near run:


Now I will wait when work is done,


Until my happy change shall come,


When from my labors I shall rest


With Christ above for to be blest. —William Bradford








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Poetry Saturday—The Creator Is Far Nobler

August 22, 2020 — Craig T. Owens 




The mirror of the creatures lacks space


To bear the image of the Infinite.


‘Tis true the Lord has fairly writ His name,


And set His seal upon creation’s brow.




But as the skillful potter much excels


The vessel that He fashions on the wheel,


E’en so, but in proportion greater far,


Jehovah’s Self transcends His noblest works.




Earth’s ponderous wheels would break, her axles snap,


If freighted with the load of deity.


Space is too narrow for the Eternal’s rest,


And time too short a footstool for His throne. —Charles Spurgeon




*Charles Spurgeon explained in one of his sermons when and why he wrote this poem: “I have often heard the earth spoken of as the mirror of God’s image. But when I was traveling among the Alps and saw many of the grandest phenomena of creation such as glaciers, avalanches, and tempests, I was so impressed with the narrowness of visible things in comparison with God that I wrote such lines as these.”






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Poetry Saturday—Let All Things Now Living

August 15, 2020 — Craig T. Owens 




Let all things now living, a song of thanksgiving,


To God the Creator triumphantly raise,


Who fashioned and made us, protected and stayed us,


Who still guides us on to the end of our days.


God’s banners are o’er us, His light goes before us,


A pillar of fire shining forth in the night;


Till shadows have vanished, and darkness is banished,


As forward we travel from light into light.




His law He enforces, the stars in their courses


And sun in its orbit obediently shine,


The hills and the mountains, the rivers and fountains,


The deeps of the ocean proclaim Him divine.


We too should be voicing our love and rejoicing


With glad adoration a song let us raise,


Till all things now living unite in thanksgiving


To God in the highest, hosanna and praise. —Katherine Davis








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Poetry Saturday—Hope

August 8, 2020 — Craig T. Owens 




“Hope” is the thing with feathers


That perches in the soul


And sings the tune without the words


And never stops—at all




And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard


And sore must be the storm


That could abash the little Bird


That kept so many warm




I’ve heard it in the chillest land


And on the strangest Sea


Yet—never—in Extremity,


It asked a crumb of me. —Emily Dickinson








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Poetry Saturday—Out Of Touch With Your Lord

August 1, 2020 — Craig T. Owens 




Only a smile, yes, only a smile,


That a woman o’er burdened with grief


Expected from you; ‘twould have given relief


For her heart ache sore the while;


But weary and cheerless she went away,


Because as it happened, that very day


You were “out of touch“ with your Lord.




Only a word, yes, only a word,


That the Spirit’s small voice whispered, “Speak”;


But the worker passed onward, unblessed and weak,


Whom you were meant to have stirred


To courage, devotion and love anew,


Because when the message came to you,


You were “out of touch“ with your Lord.




Only a note, yes, only a note,


From a friend in a distant land;


The Spirit said, “Write,” but then you had planned


Some different work, and you thought


It mattered little, you did not know


‘Twould have saved a soul from sin and woe;


You were “out of touch“ with your Lord.




Only a song, yes, only a song,


That the Spirit said, “Sing tonight—


Thy voice is thy Master’s by purchased right“;


But you thought, “Mid this motley throng


I care not to sing of the City of Gold,”


And the heart that your words might have reached grew cold;


You were “out of touch“ with your Lord.




Only a day, yes, only a day!


But, oh, can you guess, my friend,


Where the influence reaches, and where it will end


Of the hours that you frittered away?


The Master’s command is, “Abide in Me,”


And fruitless and vain will your service be,


If “out of touch“ with your Lord. —Jean H. Watson








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Poetry Saturday—Brothers And Sisters The Same

July 25, 2020 — Craig T. Owens 






Look around at the sign of the times,

churches are closing their doors.

Is it because God has left them

or because of internal wars?


There‘s people trying to find the Savior

but they don’t know where to go.

One says, “This church is a good one,”

another says, “No, it ain’t so.”


What happens when the doors lock?

What happens to the lost soul?

Is this what Jesus was all about?

Was fancy carpet His real goal?


Does anyone know where God truly is?

Did He tell you while deep in prayer?

Does He need stained glass windows

for Him to be present there?


If Jesus Himself came to your church

do you think that they’d let Him in?

Or would they say, “That‘s outrageous,

the people He’s with commit sin!”


Do you think that you’ve overcome,

that you‘re a sinner no more?

If that’s what you think, I’m sorry,

Jesus has something for you in store.


We all are sinners each and everyone.

None of us are innocent and pure;

if you think that you are different,

I don’t think that you are so sure.


So before you go pointing your finger,

before you go laying the blame,

remember what it says in the Bible:

we are brothers and sisters the same. —Barney Fritcher






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