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Post by Deleted on Feb 15, 2011 7:26:05 GMT -6
PRAYER OF A SHUT-IN
I do not think of heaven as A place of rest Where I may lay my weary head Upon Thy breast.
So many hours I spend on earth With folded hands, With tortured nerves, and body gripped By iron bands,
And only faulty service now I give to Thee; So Lord, my dream of heaven is That it will be
A place where I shall stand erect And straight and strong, With feet which run to do Thy will The whole day long;
And joyous strength for tasks which Thou Wilt set for me; A spirit strangely, wondrously Like Thee, like Thee!
As love for Thee, perfected, burns, A living flame! Let this be heaven, Lord, I ask In Thy dear name.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 16, 2011 8:44:48 GMT -6
THE THORN
I stood, a mendicant of God, Before His royal throne, And begged Him for one priceless gift For me to call my own.
I took the gift from out His hand, But as I would depart I cried, “But Lord, this is a thorn, And it has pierced my heart!
“This is a strange and hurtful gift Which Thou hast given me.” He said, “I love to give good gifts, I gave My best to thee.”
I took it home, and though at first The cruel thorn hurt sore, As long years passed I grew at last To love it more and more.
I learned He never gives a thorn Without this added grace: He takes the thorn to pin aside The veil which hides His face!
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Post by Deleted on Feb 17, 2011 8:57:00 GMT -6
FAITH
The mighty purposes of God How could I know? His weaving shuttle from Time's dawn Patterned it so.
There is no need for me to see Nor understand This tapestry He weaves for me With His own hand.
If I spoil not His work, but lie Quiet and still; If as He weaves I rest within His perfect will,
Then some day I shall see, while bowed Before His feet, The pattern of His tapestry, Perfect, complete!
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Post by Deleted on Feb 18, 2011 8:04:22 GMT -6
COSTLY PRAISE
I beg you, do not praise my work, For it will cost me dear. Heaven will hold no crowns for me If I receive them here.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 21, 2011 9:23:56 GMT -6
TWENTY-THIRD PSALM
THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD. What want can be mine? My hand is clasped close in that dear hand of Thine. Thy pastures are green and Thy waters are still; My soul is restored as it drinketh its fill.
All day for Thy name's sake Thou leadest my feet In paths that are righteous and pleasant and sweet. What though through the valley of death I must go? I fear not its shadow of evil, I know
That Thou wilt go with me each step of my way, Thy rod and Thy staff for my comfort and stay. I dine at Thy table, Thine own hand doth pour The oil on my head. My cup runneth o'er.
Thy Goodness and Mercy shall not leave my side Till at last in the house of the Lord I abide.
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Murph
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Post by Murph on Feb 21, 2011 9:32:50 GMT -6
Read "The Thorn" to my SS class Sunday. We were looking at trials and tribulations...and the poem seemed to fit.
But the impact came from the one I read to give us all something to think on this week...
"I beg you, do not praise my work, For it will cost me dear. Heaven will hold no crowns for me If I receive them here."
Good poems!
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Post by Deleted on Feb 21, 2011 10:06:01 GMT -6
"Therefore when thou doest thine alms, do not sound a trumpet before thee, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may have glory of men. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward" (Matthew 6:2).
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Post by Deleted on Feb 22, 2011 7:06:50 GMT -6
“FOOTPRINTS ON THE SANDS OF TIME”
When I go, will others follow Where these feet of mine have trod? May I leave, not footprints only, But a path which leads to God!
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Post by Deleted on Feb 23, 2011 8:17:36 GMT -6
THE CUP
Another cup, dear Lord? And must I drink this too? Of late so much I've had Of bitter brew!
“Trust Me, dear child; would I Put to your lip
Or bid you drink a cup from which I did not sip?
Come, taste, and you will find My balm can make Like honey any draught that I Ask you to take!”
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Post by Deleted on Feb 24, 2011 8:51:58 GMT -6
SORROW DOES NOT WALK ALONE
Sorrow does not walk alone. With a loveliness serene, Beside her on her lonely road Beauty journeys, though unseen.
For Sorrow's wept-out eyes are blind And only at her journey's end With startled vision will she find That Beauty has been Sorrow's friend.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 25, 2011 10:22:18 GMT -6
PATMOS
An exile on a lonely isle! The waves beat on the rocky shore; The call of birds but emphasized His utter loneliness the more.
White breaker circled him about, A ruthless ring which hemmed him in. Beyond, the emptiness of sea And far horizon, faint and thin.
But on his knees, John emptied out Self from his heart, and held it up, And so God filled that empty heart With glory, like a brimming cup.
A door was opened far above And there, upon a shining throne, He, the disciple whom Christ loved, Beheld again that Perfect One,
And heard again that dear loved voice, “Fear not, take up thy pen and write. The things which were, the things which The things which shall be, these indite.”
And we, to whom have been revealed Those words, lift grateful hearts and pray, “We thank Thee that Thy servant, Lord, Was 'in the Spirit' on that day!”
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Post by Deleted on Feb 28, 2011 7:26:23 GMT -6
BARABBAS
Along the open road, beneath the sky, I go, scarcely believing it is I! I am Barabbas, — in my place and stead One died, else I had been forever dead. I was a robber in a dungeon cell, Justly condemned to death, I knew full well.
I heard the carpenters at work upon My cross, — and then the jailer said, “Be gone!” And struck my shackles off. I did not waste A moment's time nor thought, but made great haste To put some miles between me and that spot.
Then slowing down at last, I wondered what Had happened—some confusion or mistake? No matter, not again would they retake Barabbas, — evermore would I be free!
Then came I to the place called Calvary, And saw three crosses dark against the sky, And one I knew was meant for me, yet I Was free, although One hung there in my place.
Then crept I closer, looked into His face, And heard Him say, “They know not what they do! Father, forgive!”... .Since then, I wish I knew! I cannot understand; I only know That I am here because He died. I go Along the open road, beneath the sky, But never free from asking why, and why!
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Post by Deleted on Mar 1, 2011 9:05:40 GMT -6
MANGER SCENE
A bright-eyed Baby lay In the fresh clean hay;
Not a bed at all, Just a cattle stall.
In the moonlight dim Were revealed to Him
Friendly creatures there, Sleeping everywhere.
A gentle brindled cow Beside the fragrant mow;
His baby ears could hear Oxen breathing near,
And their breath was sweet. Once He heard the bleat
Of a lamb... His eyes Saw with no surprise
His companions here. Mother rested near,
He was snug and warm, There was naught to harm, —
Pleased with everything, He slept, the little King.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 2, 2011 8:55:07 GMT -6
ANNA
My name is Anna. I am very old. Four score and four in that year. I have been Long years bereft of him I loved, and I Found comfort for my lonely aching heart In one thing only, in the service of Almighty God. I fasted and I prayed And never left the temple day or night. I often prophesied. And so in time A sort of peace, or was it lethargy, Dwelt in my soul, and seemed to take the place Of joys which other women know, to whom There had been given motherhood and who Still had their men to occupy their hearts.
There was an old priest, Simeon by name. To him it was revealed that he should not See death before he saw the Christ of God! Expectancy was in the very air we breathed. One day I came into the temple and Beheld a couple standing there, and he, The priest, held in his arms a little Babe, And on his face a look I never shall Forget, — the look of one who has beheld The glory of salvation and the light Of God's fulfillment of His promises!
He praised the Lord with broken voice, and then He blessed them, standing there, although he said To Mary that a sword would pierce her soul. And then I took her Babe into my arms, And all of heaven and earth were strangely there! I laid His little head one moment on My empty, shriveled breast. And such a flood Of joy burst on my soul that I could scarce Contain myself, and through my lips there poured A song of triumph and of praise to God.
Since then I hear of Him from time to time. The little children love Him well, they say; The common people follow Him; but we, The old, are we the only ones who know He is the Son of God? I wait to see How God will move, and if it be His will To set up now His kingdom here on earth.
But meanwhile how the songs sing on within My heart! Thy light still shines for me, and still The glory of the Lord is all about. Forgotten are my lonely barren years— For one brief moment, pierced with beauty, I Cradled the little Christ upon my breast!
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Post by Deleted on Mar 3, 2011 6:37:30 GMT -6
TO A SCIENTIST
You think that between His Word and His world There is contradiction, my brother? The moving finger that transcribed the one Is the Hand that created the other!
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Post by Deleted on Mar 4, 2011 8:47:08 GMT -6
“AND PETER”
“Go tell my disciples — and Peter.” My heart and my eyes are wept dry. That He whom I thrice denied, cursing, Should mention a wretch such as I!
“Go tell my disciples—and Peter.” He knew all my grief and my shame. “Go tell my disciples—and Peter.” Thus, tenderly, speaking my name!
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Post by Deleted on Mar 21, 2011 7:03:34 GMT -6
INN KEEPER
I kept an inn in Bethlehem, O, long and long ago! I told them that there was no room But how was I to know
The Lord of Glory had no place To lay His gentle head? I am a weary old man now, And soon I shall be dead;
And I shall stand before His throne, And will He say to me, “I have no room for thee because Thou hadst no room for Me”?
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Post by Deleted on Mar 22, 2011 9:19:33 GMT -6
LAZARUS
I live, yet I am not like other men. For I am one who died and lived again; And when I walk they point to me and say, “Yes, he was raised up from the dead that day.”
A sickness came upon me. I recall Long days of fevered pain and weakness, all The ordered quiet of a sickroom, and The skillful nursing of a tender hand.
I know my worried sisters thrice sent word To Him, our Friend. I know they never heard A word from Him. I fought my fight for breath, And failed, —and I was lost in mists of death.
Then I awoke, and strangely I was bound; Confining grave clothes wrapped me round and round. A moment's choking panic, then His voice, “Loose him and let him go!” O heart, rejoice Forevermore! I knew Him for my Lord, The Saviour of mankind, the Living Word!
And I came forth, and looked into His face. Though wet with tears, it shone with love and grace. And there was joyous feasting all the day, And many turned to Him and went His way.
And if sometimes I think about the moment when I must go through it all and die again O wonder! That He used me in that hour To prove to men God's glory and His power!
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Post by Deleted on Mar 23, 2011 7:04:32 GMT -6
THE CARPENTER
Sometimes I wonder if while He Was yet a little boy He did not make a small trig boat Or other wooden toy.
And after while, when He was grown, He somehow couldn't bear To throw away the cherished ship He'd carved with earnest care.
And so He laid it by, perhaps Behind some joist or beam. And all His years spent in the shop Became a misty dream.
And then when He went back to God, His mother slipped away For that new home of hers with John And spent a long sweet day
Within the shop where He had worked; And as with quivering lip She tidied it, at last she found The little wooden ship.
I know, I know just how she stood, (You mothers understand), And held the ship close to her heart, And stroked it with her hand.
And I am very certain that Until the very day She died, the little ship He made Was never far away.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 24, 2011 8:03:57 GMT -6
JOHN
John was a friend of Jesus, And lay upon His breast. Did the other disciples envy That place of perfect rest?
Ye who are heavy laden, I, who am torn with woe, There is rest for us on His bosom, That the world can never know,
Rest for all who have labored Throughout the weary day, Rest, and the touch of a loved hand Wiping our tears away.
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