poetry | Craig T. Owens

January 2026
S	M	T	W	T	F	S
	1	2	3
4	5	6	7	8	9	10
11	12	13	14	15	16	17
18	19	20	21	22	23	24
25	26	27	28	29	30	31

Poetry Saturday—Oh The Lamb

April 9, 2022 — Craig T. Owens

Listen to the podcast of this post by clicking on the player below, and you can also subscribe on Apple, Spotify, or Audible.

In evil long I took delight,

Unawed by shame or fear,

Till a new object met my sight,

And stopp’d my wild career.

Oh, the Lamb, the bleeding Lamb,

The Lamb on Calvary,

The Lamb that was slain and liveth again

To intercede for me.

I saw One hanging on a Tree

In agonies and blood,

Who fixed His languid eyes on me,

As near the Cross I stood.

Sure never till my latest breath

Can I forget that look,

It seem’d to charge me with His death,

Tho’ not a word He spoke.

My conscience felt and owned my guilt,

And plung’d me in despair,

I saw my sins His blood had spilt,

And helped to nail Him there.

A second look He gave, which said,

“I freely all forgive,

This blood is for thy ransom paid,

I die, that thou may’st live.”

Thus, while His death my sins display

In all its blackest hue,

Such is the mystery of grace,

It seals my pardon too.

Oh, the Lamb, the bleeding Lamb,

The Lamb on Calvary,

The Lamb that was slain and liveth again

To intercede for me. —John Newton

►► Would you please prayerfully consider supporting this ministry? My Patreon supporters get behind-the-scenes access to exclusive materials. ◀︎◀︎

Posted in Uncategorized. Tags: blood, Calvary, Cross, crucifixion, forgiveness, hymn, Jesus Christ, John Newton, Lamb, poem, poetry, salvation. Leave a Comment »

Poetry Saturday—The Bag

April 2, 2022 — Craig T. Owens

Listen to the podcast of this post by clicking on the player below, and you can also subscribe on Apple, Spotify, or Audible.

Away despair! my gracious Lord doth heare.

Though windes and waves assault my keel,

He doth preserve it: He doth steer,

Ev’n when the boat seems most to reel.

Storms are the triumph of His art:

Well may He close His eyes, but not His heart.

Hast thou not heard, that my Lord Jesus di’d?

Then let me tell thee a strange storie.

The God of power, as He did ride

In His majestic robes of glorie,

Reserv’d to light; and so one day

He did descend, undressing all the way.

The starres His tire of light and rings obtain’d,

The cloud His bow, the fire His spear,

The sky His azure mantle gain’d.

And when they ask’d, what He would wear;

He smil’d and said as He did go,

He had new clothes a making here below.

When He was come, as travellers are wont,

He did repair unto an inne.

Both then, and after, many a brunt

He did endure to cancell sinne:

And having giv’n the rest before,

Here He gave up His life to pay our score.

But as He was returning, there came one

That ran upon Him with a spear.

He, who came hither all alone,

Bringing nor man, nor arms, nor fear,

Receiv’d the blow upon His side,

And straight He turn’d, and to His brethren cry’d,

If ye have any thing to send or write,

I have no bag, but here is room:

Unto my Father’s hands and sight,

Beleeve Me, it shall safely come.

That I shall minde, what you impart;

Look, you may put it very neare My heart.

Or if hereafter any of My friends

Will use Me in this kinde, the doore

Shall still be open; what he sends

I will present, and somewhat more,

Not to his hurt. Sighs will convey

Any thing to Me. Harke, Despair away. —George Herbert (**spelling is 1663 English**)

►► Would you please prayerfully consider supporting this ministry? My Patreon supporters get behind-the-scenes access to exclusive materials. ◀︎◀︎

Posted in Uncategorized. Tags: Calvary, crucifixion, George Herbert, pain, poem, poetry, resurrection, salvation, Savior. Leave a Comment »

Poetry Saturday—I Stay Near The Door

March 26, 2022 — Craig T. Owens

Listen to the podcast of this post by clicking on the player below, and you can also subscribe on Apple, Spotify, or Audible.

I stay near the door.
I neither go too far in, nor stay too far out,
The door is the most important door in the world—
It is the door through which men walk when they find God.
There’s no use my going way inside, and staying there,
When so many are still outside, and they, as much as I,
Crave to know where the door is.
And all that so many ever find
Is only the wall where a door ought to be.
They creep along the wall like blind men.
With outstretched, groping hands,
Feeling for a door, knowing there must be a door,
Yet they never find it…
So I stay near the door.

The most tremendous thing in the world
Is for men to find that door—the door to God.
The most important thing any man can do
Is to take hold of one of those blind, groping hands,
And put it on the latch—the latch that only clicks
And opens to the man’s own touch.
Men die outside that door, as starving beggars die
On cold nights in cruel cities in the dead of winter—
Die for want of what is within their grasp.
They live, on the other side of it—live because they have found it.
Nothing else matters compared to helping them find it,
And open it, and walk in, and find Him…
So I stay near the door.

Go in, great saints, go all the way in—
Go way down into the cavernous cellars,
And way up into the spacious attics—
In a vast, roomy house, this house where God is.
Go into the deepest of hidden casements,
Of withdrawal, of silence, of sainthood.
Some must inhabit those inner rooms,
And know the depths and heights of God,
And call outside to the rest of us how wonderful it is.
Sometimes I take a deeper look in,
Sometimes venture a little farther;
But my place seems closer to the opening…
So I stay near the door.

The people too far in do not see how near these are
To leaving—preoccupied with the wonder of it all.
Somebody must watch for those who have entered the door,
But would like to run away. So for them, too,
I stay near the door.

I admire the people who go way in.
But I wish they would not forget how it was
Before they got in. Then they would be able to help
The people who have not even found the door,
Or the people who want to run away again from God.
You can go in too deeply, and stay in too long,
And forget the people outside the door.
As for me, I shall take my old accustomed place,
Near enough to God to hear Him, and know He is there,
But not so far from men as not to hear them,
And remember they are there too.
Where? Outside the door—
Thousands of them, millions of them.
But—more important for me—
One of them, two of them, ten of them,
Whose hands I am intended to put on the latch,
So I shall stay by the door and wait
For those who seek it.
‘I had rather be a door-keeper…’
So I stay near the door. —Samuel Shoemaker

►► Would you please prayerfully consider supporting this ministry? My Patreon supporters get behind-the-scenes access to exclusive materials. ◀︎◀︎

Posted in Uncategorized. Tags: Alcoholics Anonymous, compassion, empathy, poem, poetry, rescue, Samuel Shoemaker. Leave a Comment »

Poetry Saturday—If None

March 12, 2022 — Craig T. Owens

Listen to the podcast of this post by clicking on the player below, and you can also subscribe on Apple, Spotify, or Audible.

If none were sick and none were sad,

What service could we render?

I think if we were always glad

We scarcely could be tender.

Did our beloved never need

Our patient ministration,

Earth would grow cold and miss indeed

Its sweetest consolation.

If sorrow never claimed our heart,

And every wish were granted,

Patience would die and hope depart—

Life would be disenchanted. —Anonymous

►► Would you please prayerfully consider supporting this ministry? My Patreon supporters get behind-the-scenes access to exclusive materials. ◀︎◀︎

Posted in Uncategorized. Tags: empathy, encouragement, helping hand, ministry, patience, poem, poetry, sick. Leave a Comment »

Poetry Saturday—Smart

March 5, 2022 — Craig T. Owens

Listen to the podcast of this post by clicking on the player below, and you can also subscribe on Apple, Spotify, or Audible.

My dad gave me a one dollar bill

‘Cause I’m his smartest son,

And I swapped it for two shiny quarters

‘Cause two is more than one!

And then I took the quarters

And traded them to Lou

For three dimes—I guess he don’t know

That three is more than two!

Just then, along came old blind Bates

And just ‘cause he can’t see

He gave me four nickels for my three dimes,

And four is more than three!

And I took the nickels to Hiram Coombs

Down at the seed-feed store,

And the fool gave me five pennies for them,

And five is more than four!

And then I went and showed my dad,

And he got red in the cheeks

And closed his eyes and shook his head—

Too proud of me to speak! —Shel Silverstein

►► Would you please prayerfully consider supporting this ministry? My Patreon supporters get behind-the-scenes access to exclusive materials. ◀︎◀︎

Posted in Uncategorized. Tags: comedy, humor, intelligence, poem, poetry, Shel Silverstein. Leave a Comment »

Poetry Saturday—The Love Of God

February 26, 2022 — Craig T. Owens

Listen to the podcast of this post by clicking on the player below, and you can also subscribe on Apple, Spotify, or Audible.

The love of God is greater far
Than tongue or pen can ever tell;
It goes beyond the highest star,
And reaches to the lowest hell;
The guilty pair, bowed down with care,
God gave His Son to win;
His erring child He reconciled,
And pardoned from his sin.

Oh, love of God, how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure—
The saints’ and angels’ song.

When hoary time shall pass away,
And earthly thrones and kingdoms fall,
When men who here refuse to pray,
On rocks and hills and mountains call,
God’s love so sure, shall still endure,
All measureless and strong;
Redeeming grace to Adam’s race—
The saints’ and angels’ song.

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky. —Frederick Lehman

►► Would you please prayerfully consider supporting this ministry? My Patreon supporters get behind-the-scenes access to exclusive materials. ◀︎◀︎

Posted in Uncategorized. Tags: Frederick Lehman, poem, poetry. Leave a Comment »

Poetry Saturday—The Red Flannel Clergy Group

February 19, 2022 — Craig T. Owens

Listen to the podcast of this post by clicking on the player below, and you can also subscribe on Apple, Spotify, or Audible.

(A little background for this poem. I live in Cedar Springs, MI, which has been called the Red Flannel Town for years because of the one-piece red flannel long undearwear which was manufactured here. Cedar Springs is also home to one of the most amazing ministerial groups I have ever had the privilege of working with.)

There was a group of clergy from a Red Flannel town
and one of their goals was to lift up people who were down.

And so together in word and deed
bringing people closer to Jesus they did lead.

They worked together even cross-denominationally
and through their partnership, they were as happy as can be!

They were a wonderful and fantastic Christ-centered group
discussing ministry matters monthly over pizza or sometimes soup.

Through laughter, hard work and sometimes even a shed tear
they supported each other and proclaimed the Gospel for all to hear.

The town may have been noted for its Red Flannel zeal,
but it was the work of the clergy that was its greatest appeal. —Rev. Jim Alblas

►► Would you please prayerfully consider supporting this ministry? My Patreon supporters get behind-the-scenes access to exclusive materials. ◀︎◀︎

Posted in Uncategorized. Tags: Cedar Springs, Cedar Springs Ministerial Association, cooperation, poem, poetry, red flannel. Leave a Comment »

Poetry Saturday—As We Think

February 12, 2022 — Craig T. Owens

Listen to the podcast of this post by clicking on the player below, and you can also subscribe on Apple, Spotify, or Audible.

The thought manifests the word;

The word manifests the deed;

The deed develops into habit;

And habit hardens into character.

So watch the thought and its ways with care,

And let them spring forth from love

Born out of compassion for all beings.

As the shadow follows the body, as we think,

So we become. —Juan Mascaro

►► Would you please prayerfully consider supporting this ministry? My Patreon supporters get behind-the-scenes access to exclusive materials. ◀︎◀︎

Posted in Uncategorized. Tags: character, Juan Mascaro, poem, poetry, thinking, thought life, thoughts. Leave a Comment »

Poetry Saturday—Sorrowful, Yet Rejoicing

February 5, 2022 — Craig T. Owens

Listen to the podcast of this post by clicking on the player below, and you can also subscribe on Apple, Spotify, or Audible.

“…sorrowful, yet always rejoicing…” (2 Corinthians 6:10)

Sorrow was beautiful, but her beauty was the beauty of the moonlight shining through the leafy branches of the trees in the wood, and making little pools of silver here and there on the soft green moss below. When Sorrow sang, her notes were like the low sweet call of the nightingale, and in her eyes was the unexpectant gaze of one who has ceased to look for coming gladness. She could weep in tender sympathy with those who weep, but to rejoice with those who rejoice was unknown to her.

Joy was beautiful, too, but his was the radiant beauty of the summer morning. His eyes still held the glad laughter of childhood, and his hair had the glint of the sunshine’s kiss. When Joy sang his voice soared upward as the lark’s, and his step was the step of a conqueror who has never known defeat. He could rejoice with all who rejoice, but to weep with those who weep was unknown to him.

“But we can never be united,” said Sorrow wistfully.

“No, never.” And Joy’s eyes shadowed as he spoke. “My path lies through the sunlit meadows, the sweetest roses bloom for my gathering, and the blackbirds and thrushes await my coming to pour forth their most joyous lays.”

“My path,” said Sorrow, turning slowly away, “leads through the darkening woods, with moon-flowers only shall my hands be filled. Yet the sweetest of all earth-songs—the love song of the night—shall be mine; farewell, Joy, farewell.”

Even as she spoke they became conscious of a form standing beside them; dimly seen, but of a Kingly Presence, and a great and holy awe stole over them as they sank on their knees before Him.

“I see Him as the King of Joy,” whispered Sorrow, “for on His Head are many crowns, and the nail prints in His hands and feet are the scars of a great victory. Before Him all my sorrow is melting away into deathless love and gladness, and I give myself to Him forever.”

“Nay, Sorrow,” said Joy softly, “but I see Him as the King of Sorrow, and the crown on His head is a crown of thorns, and the nail prints in His hands and feet are the scars of a great agony. I, too, give myself to Him forever, for sorrow with Him must be sweeter than any joy that I have known.”

“Then we are one in Him,” they cried in gladness, “for none but He could unite Joy and Sorrow.”

Hand in hand they passed out into the world to follow Him through storm and sunshine, in the bleakness of winter cold and the warmth of summer gladness, “as sorrowful yet always rejoicing.” —Lettie Cowman

►► Would you please prayerfully consider supporting this ministry? My Patreon supporters get behind-the-scenes access to exclusive materials. ◀︎◀︎