As regular readers of this blog probably know, on Saturdays I like to share poems that I have read during the week. One place I encounter poetry on a regular basis is in my daily Bible reading. But if you have read the Bible, no doubt you have discovered what I have discovered: ancient Hebrew poetry is very different from the poetry we usually read!
I found this helpful chart explaining the parallelism of Hebrew poetry in my Faithlife Illustrated Study Bible, and I thought you might benefit from it too.
If you would like to download this chart, I have shared it as a PDF here → Parallelism
Listen to the podcast of this post by clicking on the player below, and you can also subscribe on Apple, Spotify, or Audible.
Day by day and with each passing moment, Strength I find to meet my trials here; Trusting in my Father’s wise bestowment, I’ve no cause for worry or for fear. He whose heart is kind beyond all measure Gives unto each day what He deems best—
Lovingly, its part of pain and pleasure, Mingling toil with peace and rest.
Ev’ry day the Lord Himself is near me With a special mercy for each hour; All my cares He fain would bear, and cheer me, He whose name is Counselor and Pow’r. The protection of His child and treasure Is a charge that on Himself He laid; “As thy days, thy strength shall be in measure,” This the pledge to me He made.
Help me then in eve’ry tribulation So to trust Thy promises, O Lord, That I lose not faith’s sweet consolation Offered me within Thy holy Word. Help me, Lord, when toil and trouble meeting, E’er to take, as from a father’s hand, One by one, the days, the moments fleeting, Till I reach the promised land. —Lina Sandell
This is a weekly series with things I’m reading and pondering from Charles Spurgeon. You can read the original seed thought here, or type “Thursdays With Spurgeon” in the search box to read more entries.
Listen to the podcast of this post by clicking on the player below, and you can also subscribe on iTunes or Spotify.
Walking Preachers
For we walk by faith, not by sight. (2 Corinthians 5:7)
Walking is a position that…signifies activity. You would suppose from the way some Christians deport themselves, that their whole life was spent in meditation. It is a blessed thing to sit ‘with Mary at the Master’s feet.’ But we walk as well as sit. We do not merely learn, but we practice what we know. We are not simply scholars, but, having been taught as scholars, we go on to show our scholarship by working in the vineyard or wherever else the Master may be pleased to place us. …
You would gather indeed from what others say, that the whole life of a Christian is to be spent in prayer. Prayer, it is true, is the vitality of the secret parts of Christian life, but we are not always on our knees! We are not constantly engaged in seeking blessings from heaven. We do continue in prayer, but we are also engaged and showing forth to others the blessings that we have received and in exhibiting in our daily actions the fruits that we have gathered on the mountaintop of communion with God. We walk, and this implies activity. …
‘We walk.’ This is more than some can say. They can affirm, ‘We talk. We think. We experience. We feel.’ But true Christians can say with the apostle Paul, ‘We walk.’ Oh, that we may ever be able to say it too! Here, then, is the activity of the Christian life.
From Faith Versus Sight
Edgar A. Guest captured this idea well in his poem “Sermons We See.” The first stanza says,
I’d rather see a sermon than hear one any day;
I’d rather one should walk with me than merely show the way.
The eye’s a better pupil and more willing than the ear;
Fine counsel is confusing, but example’s always clear.
And the best of all preachers are the men who live their creeds.
For to see the good in action is what everybody needs.
Or as Francis of Assisi noted, “It is no use walking anywhere to preach unless our walking is our preaching.”
So a fantastic question for every Christian to ask themselves is this: Do people know that I’m walking with Jesus even if I never open my mouth to tell them?
Listen to the podcast of this post by clicking on the player below, and you can also subscribe on Apple, Spotify, or Audible.
My heart is resting, O my God—
I will give thanks and sing;
My heart is at the secret source
Of every precious thing.
Now the frail vessel Thou hast made
No hand but Thine shall fill
For the waters of the Earth have failed,
And I am thirsty still.
I thirst for springs of heavenly life, And here all day they rise— I seek the treasure of Thy love, And close at hand it lies. And a new song is in my mouth To long-loved music set Glory to Thee for all the grace I have not tasted yet.
Glory to Thee for strength withheld, For want and weakness known— And the fear that sends me to Thy breast For what is most my own. I have a heritage of joy That yet I must not see; But the hand that bled to make it mine Is keeping it for me.
There is a certainty of love That sets my heart at rest— A calm assurance for today That to be poor is best— A prayer reposing on His truth Who hath made all things mine, That draws my captive will to Him, And makes it one with Thine.
I will give thanks for suffering now, For want and toil and loss— For the death that sin makes hard and slow, Upon my Savior’s Cross— Thanks for the little spring of love That gives me strength to say, If they will leave me part in Him, Let all things pass away.
Sometimes I long for promised bliss, But it will not come too late— And the songs of patient spirits rise From the place wherein I wait; While in the faith that makes no haste My soul has time to see A kneeling host of Thy redeemed, In fellowship with me.
There is a multitude around Responsive to my prayer; I hear the voice of my desire Resounding everywhere. But the earnest of eternal joy, In every prayer I trace; I see the glory of the Lord: On every chastened face.
How oft, in still communion known, Those spirits have been sent To share the travail of my soul, Or show me what it meant! And I long to do some work of love No spoiling hand could touch, For the poor and suffering of Thy flock Who comfort me so much.
But the yearning thought is mingled now With the thankful song I sing; For Thy people know the secret source Of every precious thing. The heart that ministers for Thee In Thy own work will rest; And the subject spirit of a child Can serve Thy children best.
Mine be the reverent, listening love, That waits all day on Thee, With the service of a watchful heart Which no one else can see— The faith that, in a hidden way No other eye may know, Finds all its daily work prepared, And loves to have it so.
My heart is resting, O my God, My heart is in Thy care I hear the voice of joy and health Resounding everywhere. “Thou art my portion,” saith my soul, Ten thousand voices say, And the music of their glad Amen, Will never die away. —Anna Laetitia Waring
Cease from disquietude,
Craig T. Owens 