Think that day lost whose descending Sun
Views from thy hand no noble action done.
—Jacob Bobart
Poetry Saturday—The Rock
October 17, 2015 — Craig T. Owens
The endless cycle of idea and action,Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.
All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,
All our ignorance brings us nearer to death,
But nearness to death no nearer to God.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
The cycles of Heaven in twenty centuries
Bring us farther from God and nearer to the Dust. —T.S. Eliot
Poetry Saturday—Mission
October 3, 2015 — Craig T. Owens
If you are dreaming of a future goal,
When, crowned with glory, men shall own your power,
Be careful that you let no struggling soul
Go by unaided in the present hour.
If you are moved to pity for the earth,
And long to aid it, do not look so high,
You pass some poor, dumb creature faint with thirst—
All life is equal in the Eternal Eye.
If you would help to make the wrong things right,
Begin at home: there lies a lifetime’s toil.
Weed your own garden fair for all men’s sight,
Before you plan to till another’s soil.
God chooses His own leaders in the world,
And from the rest He asks but willing hands.
As mighty mountains into place are hurled,
While patient tides may only shape the sands. —Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Mission
Poetry Saturday—The Oyster
September 5, 2015 — Craig T. Owens
There once was an oyster, whose story I’ll tell,Who found that some sand had gotten into his shell.
It was only a grain, but it gave him great pain,
For oysters have feelings, although they are plain.
Now, did he berate the harsh workings of fate
That had brought him to such a deplorable state?
“No,” he said to himself, “since I cannot remove it,
I’ll lie in my shell and think how to improve it.”
They years rolled around, as the years always do,
And he came to his ultimate destiny… stew.
Now the small grain of sand that had bothered him so
Was a beautiful pearl all richly aglow.
This tale has a moral, for isn’t it grand,
What an oyster can do with a morsel of sand?
Think… what could we do, if we’d only begin
With some of the things that get under our skin. —Anonymous (I heard this poem as a part of a brilliant message on dealing with life’s irritations)
Poetry Saturday—Don’t Hurry, Don’t Worry
August 1, 2015 — Craig T. Owens
The world is wideIn time and tide,
And God is guide,
Then—do not hurry.
That man is blest
Who does his best
And leaves the rest,
Then—do not worry. Charles F. Deems, Epigram
Poetry Saturday—Beloved
July 18, 2015 — Craig T. Owens
Not from his head was woman took,As made her husband to o’erlook;
Not from his feet, as one designed
The footstool of the stronger kind;
But fashioned for himself a bride;
An equal, taken from his side.
Her place intended to maintain,
The mate and glory of the man;
To rest, as still beneath his arm
Protected by her lord from harm—
And never from his heart removed,
As only less than God beloved. ―Charles Wesley
Poetry Saturday—Love Unspeakable
July 11, 2015 — Craig T. Owens
I faced a future all unknown,No opening could I see,
I heard without the night wind moan.
The days were dark to me―
I cannot face it all alone
Oh be Thou near to me!
He has, He will, He worketh still,
In ways most wonderful.
He drew me from the miry clay,
He filled my cup quite full.
And while my heart can speak I’ll tell
His love unspeakable. ―John Oxenham
Poetry Saturday—The Privileges Of The Living
June 27, 2015 — Craig T. Owens
Awake, my zeal, awake, my love,To serve my Savior here below,
In works which perfect saints above
And holy angels cannot do.
Awake my charity, to feed
The hungry soul, and clothe the poor:
In heaven are found no sons of need,
There all these duties are no more.
Subdue thy passions, O my soul!
Maintain the fight, thy work pursue,
Daily thy rising sins control,
And be thy victories ever new.
The land of triumph lies on high,
There are no foes t’ encounter there:
Lord, I would conquer till I die,
And finish all the glorious war.
Let every flying hour confess
I gave Thy gospel fresh renown;
And when my life and labor cease,
May I possess the promis’d crown. —Isaac Watts
Poetry Saturday—Father And Son
June 20, 2015 — Craig T. Owens
Be more than his dad,Be a chum to the lad;
Be a part of his life
Every hour of the day;
Find time to talk with him,
Take time to walk with him,
Share in his studies
And share in his play;
Take him to places,
To ball games and races,
Teach him the things
That you want him to know;
Don’t live apart from him,
Don’t keep your heart from him,
Be his best comrade,
He’s needing you so!
Never neglect him,
Though young, still respect him,
Hear his opinions
With patience and pride;
Show him his error,
But be not a terror,
Grim-visaged and fearful,
When he’s at your side.
Know what his thoughts are,
Know what his sports are,
Know all his playmates,
It’s easy to learn to;
Be such a father
That when troubles gather
You’ll be the first one
For counsel, he’ll turn to.
You can inspire him
With courage, and fire him
Hot with ambition
For deeds that are good;
He’ll not betray you
Nor ill repay you,
If you have taught him.
The things that you should.
Father and son
Must in all things be one —
Partners in trouble
And comrades in joy.
More than a dad
Was the best pal you had;
Be such a chum
As you knew, to your boy. —Edgar A. Guest
Poetry Saturday—Not By Wrestling
June 13, 2015 — Craig T. Owens
Not by wrestling, but by clingingShall we be most blest;
Wrestling only brings us sorrow;
Clinging brings us rest.
When we stay our feeble efforts,
And from struggling cease,
Unconditional surrender
Brings us God’s own peace.
And from struggling cease,
Unconditional surrender
Brings us God’s own peace.
Lean we all our weight on Jesus,
Who alone can save;
He by might of love hath triumphed
O’er His willing slave.
Who alone can save;
He by might of love hath triumphed
O’er His willing slave.
Yielding, we shall know true conquest;
Dying, we shall live;
“Not my will, but Thine” prevaileth,
Victory to give. —J.H. Stuart
Dying, we shall live;
“Not my will, but Thine” prevaileth,
Victory to give. —J.H. Stuart
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