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Post by Deleted on Nov 2, 2010 2:01:19 GMT -6
“ Charge them that are rich in this world, that they be not highminded, nor trust in uncertain riches, but in the living God, who giveth us richly all things to enjoy” (I Timothy 6:17). I TIMOTHY 6:17 We slid down the last long grade from the Tehachapi Mountains, and the valley spread out before us. At our feet was a great blue lake which mirrored the blue of the sky. It took a moment or two to realize that it was a field of lupine—three thousand acres of it. So closely packed were the blossoms, so solid the color, it seemed as though one could walk upon the water, as Peter did at Galilee. Here and there through the field were splashes of gold, where California poppies flaunted their riches. The blue and gold together were exquisitely lovely. Cattle browsed among the flowers, placidly munching on beauty till one would suppose they would give perfume instead of milk! We stopped the car, and looked and looked, until our eyes filled with tears. I never dreamed there was such prodigality of beauty in the world. As far as eye could see, color and more color! Splashed all over the hills and valleys. The mountains across the valley were eight or ten miles away, and yet we could see gorgeous patches of blue, gold or rose, as though some departing giant had discarded his bright robes and tossed them here and there upon the hills. On the other side of the blue lake we stopped the car again, and got out. I wandered away, and found myself at last in an enchanted meadow. Here the flowers were more mixed, a very riot of color. There were acres of owl clover, a lovely pink; and growing among them were daisies, coreopsis, brodea, and quaint "Chinese houses," heliotrope, wild canterbury bells, poppies of gold so deep they took on tawny orange tones, thistle sage, buttercups, primroses, asters and close to the ground, the baby blue eyes, a tender little flower which somehow tugs at one's heart. There was no sound except the humming of innumerable bees, and the occasional liquid, ecstatic notes of the meadow lark. The sheer delight of such beauty brings with it a strange release from all that is grimy, all that is troubling, even from pain itself. Oh, the goodness of God, who spreads abroad such loveliness to all the corners of this sin-cursed earth! What must He be preparing in heaven for His own children? It seemed to me I could not bear more beauty than was in that meadow that day. My capacity must be increased, as it will be, for I shall be " like Him!" Like the very Creator of beauty!
Thinking of that, there among the flowers, I lifted my face to the sky and sang:
Praise God from whom all blessings flow, Praise Him all creatures here below, Praise Him above, ye heavenly host, Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 5, 2010 1:52:03 GMT -6
“ The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork” (Psalms 19:1). THE HEAVENS DECLARE THE GLORY OF GOD
When the weary day Folds her robes away,
Then begins God's high Pageant of the sky.
Banners flaunt, unfold, Crimson, flame and gold!
Towers of amethyst, Veiled in opal mist
Where strands of rubies swirl. Castled crags of pearl,
Rosy lakes which shift, Change and blend and drift
Far and far away, Fade to mauve and gray
As the splendor dies In the silent skies.
Evening bells afar, Then one silver star.
Content, I lay my head On my quiet bed.
More near, more dear to Him am I Than any pageantry of sky!
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Post by Deleted on Nov 8, 2010 6:06:35 GMT -6
TRAITOR
No roof but the starry sky, No bed but the earth's brown breast. A gypsy maid am I, And the winding road is best.
What need have I for walls When I can touch the breeze? Ah, soft the night dew falls Among the friendly trees!
My only light a star Agleam in the sky for me, And ever glows the far Still beauty of the sea.
No hampering bonds for me, No house to hold me fast. I would be ever free! And yet today I passed
A house in a quiet street: I looked in at the door And watched two babies sweet Tumble about the floor.
I've a yearning and vague unrest, A fear that I am not free, A troubled pain at my breast— My heart is betraying me!
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Post by Deleted on Nov 9, 2010 9:38:55 GMT -6
MAY BASKETS
On May Day dewy spring's atiptoe at my door. A peal, then scampering, then quiet as before.
When I step through the door, of course, I cannot see Wee lovers five years old behind our cedar tree.
“Who in the world has sent these lovely things to me? I just can't even guess!" Laughter behind the tree.
On May Day rosy spring, tiptoeing to my door, Wrought miracles for me—I'm younger than before!
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Post by Deleted on Nov 10, 2010 5:03:52 GMT -6
“ Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it” (Proverbs 22:6). CHILD EVANGELISM
Think of your child in his Christian home, See him in prayer at your knee; Then think of the child in the Godless home— What manner of chance has he?
What chance to learn why the dear Lord died, And why His blood was shed; Will he only learn salvation's plan Too late, when he is dead?
"As the twig is bent the tree inclines." A child is a tender plant, And a child needs God as a flower needs light, And a soul can die from want.
"Suffer the children to come unto Me." Dear Saviour, can there be A greater service, a sweeter task Than to bring a child to Thee?
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Post by Deleted on Nov 12, 2010 10:14:37 GMT -6
CYCLE
Tender fingers of dawn Painting the skies with rose, Night's last shadows have gone, Earth has waked from repose.
Noon, and the sun rides high, Proud in his flashing might, Piercing the burnished sky With his javelins of light.
Magic of moon on the hill, Magic of dew in the grass. Night—so hushed and still I hear God's footsteps pass.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 13, 2010 8:42:24 GMT -6
LULLABY
Drowsy time is coming fast, Close those sleepy eyes at last; Sandman coming, soft and slow, Creeping up, all still, just so . . . Off to Byelo Land we go, Baby dear.
Little birds no longer sing, Feathered head tucked under wing. Flowers all have said goodnight, Little leaves are folded tight, Softly fades the waning light, Baby dear.
Tired lids soon droop to rest, Curly head on mother's breast. Nestle close in mother's arms, Warm and safe from all alarms. Where mother loves, there nothing harms, Baby dear.
Now we move with gentle tread, Tuck you in your little bed, Linger, loath to leave you there; Softly breathe an evening prayer, Angels keep you in their care, Baby dear.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 15, 2010 6:50:39 GMT -6
“ And she vowed a vow, and said, O LORD of hosts, if thou wilt indeed look on the affliction of thine handmaid, and remember me, and not forget thine handmaid, but wilt give unto thine handmaid a man child, then I will give him unto the LORD all the days of his life, and there shall no razor come upon his head” (I Samuel 1:11). LITTLE BOY
Have you really come to stay Tiny man from far away? Little boy.
Daddy's eyes and skin so fair, Mother's mouth and mother's hair, Little boy.
Lying there you look so grave. Wondering if we will behave, Little boy?
Yes, we'll love you all your days, All your funny little ways, Little boy.
Yet we give you to the Lord, And we'll feed you on His Word, Little boy!
Ours, yet we would have you be His throughout eternity, Little boy!
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Post by Deleted on Nov 16, 2010 9:32:11 GMT -6
GREETINGS
I know I call you foolish names, Like Lamb, and Little Love, And Darling Dear, and Sugar Lump, And Sweet, and Honey Dove—
But since you left your home above To live with us down here, I am only trying to say, "You're very welcome, dear!"
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Post by Deleted on Nov 17, 2010 9:26:48 GMT -6
EVENING REVERIES
Tonight I heard a mother call another child Who bore my darling's name. And my heart trembled.
Evenings like this we used to sit before the fire, Her curly head within the circle of my arm, A cold rain beating on the window panes. It beats again tonight, And I am all alone.
She was so warm and sweet, All pink and blue and gold. Strange that I could produce such loveliness, Such exquisite fruition of my girlhood dreams!
She was so young that she had never learned to dream. There are no dreams in heaven — Only dreams' fulfillment. She seemed so small to go so far alone — She was only seven, And her whole world was still Her mother and her playmates, And a foolish little dog. She took such pride in her new shoes, And now she wears winged sandals on her feet!
How has she changed who has been five years in heaven? Her beauty has begun to blossom, Her eyes grown deep From looking on the wonder of His face. She knows no tears, nor loneliness, And sorrow never touched her brow. Little daughter grown so wise!
She would not have me sit alone before my fire And eat the bitter bread of grief. A little time, my Very Dear, A few more sunsets fading in the west, And then, as sweetly as before, Your curly head within the circle of my arm, And you and I together looking on His face!
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Post by Deleted on Nov 18, 2010 10:25:32 GMT -6
“ But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope” (I Thessalonians 4:13). REMEMBERING
(To a little boy who went away)
Remembering! Remembering! As winter's snows remember spring And miracles of blossoming; Dear days when yet my heart could sing, Ere grief had touched its muted chords. Dead days whose memories pierce like swords; Gay days of laughter and of song. Ah, it has been so long, so long, Since my chilled heart was warmed like wine To feel your rose - sweet lips on mine! Is memory but a useless thing? Remembering, remembering.
Remembering! Remembering! What small frail ghosts the long nights bring In bleak gray hours when thoughts but swing The circle round, unaltering. God gave us night for peace and rest, But I, with this pain at my breast, These empty arms which clasp the air, And seek in vain to find you there? My peace was in your smile, your kiss. Must all my days and nights be this— To every dear dead hour to cling, Remembering, remembering?
Ah, Sweet, there is a blessed thing For those who hurt, remembering. Christ bought this for us at the cross. For every pang of grief and loss, For every bitter tear, there waits, When we have entered heaven's gates, A joy so rich we could not bear It now—our hearts would break. But there— A pause, a breath, a light, and then My arms about you once again! . . . Dear Love, how you and I shall sing All day of Him, remembering!
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Post by Deleted on Nov 22, 2010 8:39:27 GMT -6
“ For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38-39). TO MY MOTHER
Written by request for a service man to send to his mother -
When I was just a little boy I used to seek your arms For refuge from my little woes. In childhood's small alarms
I found their tender shelter sweet. And now that I am grown My country calls, but Mother dear, I do not go alone
Nor unprepared. I buckle on The armor of the Lord; Deep in my heart are promises And lessons from His Word.
His everlasting arms will be My refuge, my defense. Though battles rage, my soul will trust In God's omnipotence.
O living Christ, my strength, my stay— No depth of deepest sea, No bursting bomb can separate My mother's Lord from me!
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Post by Deleted on Nov 24, 2010 3:29:47 GMT -6
BEREAVEMENT
Why do we walk so softly When those we love lie dead?
Could any footfall on a grave Disturb that sleeping head?
There is a lesson and a word I learned while my heart bled:
Walk softly for the living Before their life has fled!
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Post by Deleted on Nov 25, 2010 9:10:06 GMT -6
SKY JOURNEY
(Seven Years Old)
Had I a magic stair which leaned against the sky I'd start right now to climb, high and high and high!
I'd step off at the top and stand and look about And then I'd clap my hands and run and jump and shout.
I'd try to find the place where all the winds began. Perhaps some angel waves a great, enormous fan!
I'd walk the Milky Way, and sniff the stars' perfumes, Or bounce upon a cloud, and scatter feathery plumes,
Or sit upon the moon and push stars with my feet! That little, rocking moon would make a dandy seat.
If I could find out where they store the winter snow I'd make a snowman, tall as any tree I know.
And then I'd warm my hands against the bright red sun, For making snowmen is a chilly sort of fun.
But when the great, wide sky began to get all black I'd think of earth, and how I must be getting back
To see if home was there just as it used to be, And if my Mom and Dad, perhaps, were missing me.
And now I often think about the time when I Shall make another trip to some fair, distant sky,
And find that heavenly home my Savior built for me With His own loving hands. Lord Jesus may I be
Thy child in word and deed through all my earthly days, Until I go, at last, to live with Thee always!
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Post by Deleted on Dec 6, 2010 16:01:10 GMT -6
TO MOTHER IN HEAVEN
It seems strange to think that I Am older now Then you were when you went away, And yet I know,
By some sweet miracle of grace, (So patient He, So understanding of my need) That I shall be
Your little girl again, and that My head will rest For one exquisite moment on Your gentle breast;
Your dear, remembered hands will wipe My tears away, Each last dark bitter drop, and then Your voice will say,
"Come, Daughter, let us go to God And worship." Then, As once on earth, you'll lead your child To God again!
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Post by Deleted on Dec 7, 2010 10:38:33 GMT -6
HE BEING GONE
She being gone, I cling to those who knew her best, And speak of her to them, And treasure all their words of her, If perchance some sweet day they may give to me Some new and lovely memory. A jewel has so many facets— It may be I had missed one, Flashing in the sun!
He being gone, my wondrous Lord, And this my hungry heart bereft, I dream about the beauty of that face Which, seeing not, yet I have loved. I cling to those who know Him best, And eagerly I listen while they tell About His tender ways with them, And all His wisdom and His power, Until it seems I almost glimpse His face.
Thus I prepare myself lest these my eyes Should suddenly be blinded when at last His beauty is unveiled!
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Post by Deleted on Dec 8, 2010 2:16:02 GMT -6
“ A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver” (Proverbs 25:11). IS IT SUCH A LITTLE THING?
It is such a little thing Only to be kind, But it may help a burdened soul, And ease a troubled mind.
It is such a little thing, We cannot understand The strangely powerful leverage Of a helping hand.
It is such a little thing To speak a tender word— A very little thing, and yet, Pleasing to the Lord;
Pleasing to the One who said, "Inasmuch as ye Shall do it to the least of these, Ye do it unto me!"
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Post by Deleted on Dec 9, 2010 7:56:21 GMT -6
“ Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favour of the LORD” (Proverbs 18:22). THE BEAUTIFUL WORD
"Wife" is a beautiful word. Softly the new-made bride Whispers it in her heart, Shy with tremulous pride.
"Wife" is a word which grows Lovelier with the years, Fragrant with memories shared Of rapture and pain and tears.
Because you have called me "wife" My happy heart shall be Richer through all my days, Proud through eternity!
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Post by Deleted on Dec 10, 2010 9:58:17 GMT -6
“ Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift(s)" (II Corinthians 9:15). GIFTS
Sometimes when I am lonely and wish that I could see My friends, I fall to counting the gifts they gave to me.
The lovely pictures on my walls, the cushions for my back, The fragile china figurines, exquisite bric-a-brac Of every sort, a copper bowl, a graceful vase for flowers, An ivory frame carved cunningly, a clock to tell the hours, Dear tokens of a tender love! And as I gaze, my sight Dims suddenly with tears of joy, and then my empty room Seems peopled with my precious friends, and glows with rosy bloom!
But when I think about my Lord and long His face to see, I dare not even try to count the gifts He gave to me!
The breath of life, the song of birds on mornings fresh with dew, The frosty meadows in the fall, the curve of heaven's blue, And all the miracles of spring, of buds, of greening loam; The lifted heart, the deep sweet peace of fireside and of home.
Yet these were nothing when I think, "He gave Himself for me And with the giving, gave me life for all eternity! He gives His Holy Spirit, and He gives a great High Priest, An Advocate to plead for me! Though I am but the least Of these His little children, yet He hears my feeblest prayers, And gives me sweet assurance that He knows and loves and cares He gives me precious promises, as though He left a light To burn beside the bedside of a frightened child at night. He gives me every perfect gift which cometh from above, And daily showers upon me these tokens of His love; And these are only earnests of rich blessings yet to come, Prepared for me by His dear hands within my heavenly home!'
Cease from counting! Drop the pen! My cup is running o'er, And I am on my knees before the Lord whom I adore!
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Post by Deleted on Dec 13, 2010 7:55:29 GMT -6
IN OUR STREET
We are a friendly neighborhood, And if we know more than we should About our neighbor's business, still, We like each other, and we feel What touches one has touched us all. So when the word went round last fall That our good neighbor, Mrs. Glenn, Was making baby clothes again, We tried to lend a helping hand, And we would meet, a little band Of friends, to help her sew, And chat of things that women know.
She seemed so well, but even so We felt, and said, that she should go To see a doctor. She would laugh, "Having babies isn't half As hard as people think. We'll wait And call him on the proper date."
Our street was hushed and sad today. She was so still. The baby lay Within her quiet arm. We heard The preacher read from out the Word "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, Thy victory? For He doth save Unto the uttermost all those Who came to Him, nor shall He lose His weakest child." We sat there awed— Our Mrs. Glenn, at home, with God! And it seemed that heaven's door For just one moment, stood ajar.
But then our eyes strayed to the row Of little Glenns, down here below, Left motherless. We wondered who Would do the things she used to do, Would make the bread, and comb their hair, And care as only mothers care When children's little worlds go wrong. And then our quartette sang a song. "Is there trouble anywhere? Take it to the Lord in prayer!" And as we looked upon our dead, Somehow our hearts were comforted. Tiptoeing awkwardly, our men Spoke halting words to Mr. Glenn.
This evening, up and down our street, Whenever wives and husbands meet About the house, there seems to be A special tenderness as we Glimpse for a moment all the grief Of parting, then a sweet relief That we were still together. Some There were among us who had come To the parting of the ways. But the shock of these last days Melted something hard. A man Will speak at last, as best he can, And groan, while blinking back a tear, "Suppose it had been you, my dear!"
So Mrs. Glenn still touches those Along our street. Perhaps she knows.
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