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Post by Deleted on May 25, 2011 6:30:12 GMT -6
THE BENT TWIG
It hurt my heart to see today Someone with whom I used to play In summer twilights long ago, Beneath the sun's last afterglow.
He was a gentle, merry lad, Friendly, and easily made glad. But now the change! The marks of sin Were graven deep, without, within.
His body, once so slender, trim, Was huge and gross. I looked at him And wondered when and how and why It came to pass; why he, not I?
I loved his mother, long since dead; And so, thinking of her, I said Just what she often used to say, “Jimmy, have you been good today?”
“Not very, I'm afraid,” he said And hastily he turned his head. I think he had not cried for years, But now his eyes were filled with tears.
And suddenly I seemed to see The little boy who used to be, The small clean lad of yesterday Who somehow, somewhere, missed the way,
And was bewildered, lost and sad. He had not meant to be so bad, — It somehow “happened.” . . . Then I tried To tell him of the One who died,
Who took on Him the sins of men, To make them pure and clean again. He listened well to what I told But he was hardened in the mold.
The twig was bent, the tree inclined, And so his heart and soul and mind Found it too hard a thing to do . . . I thought of other young lads who
Are living in the plastic years. Will they too know remorse and tears? I lifted up my heart in prayer For little children everywhere,
The tender lambs, still white and small. I heard the loving Saviour call, “Bring them to Me. Forbid them not. Feed thou My lambs, — hast thou forgot?”
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Post by Deleted on May 26, 2011 8:24:18 GMT -6
AFRAID OF GOD?
A child of God afraid of Him? When Christ the Lord was here He showed us what the Father is; So it is very clear
That I, a child of larger growth, Should never know a fear, Remembering how, in years long gone, The children held Him dear.
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Post by Deleted on May 27, 2011 5:24:54 GMT -6
A MEMORY
When I was just a little child There often came to me A dream which was so sweet and real It seemed, in time, to be
A wondrous story which was true. I dreamed the Saviour stood Beside the corner of our barn. He looked so kind and good,
But I was shy, and hid behind The barn until He called, “Come here, my child, be not afraid.” So I crept out, enthralled.
And then He talked to me! Although I know not what He said, The memory of His lovely face Would live though I were dead.
And I am only waiting till He calls again, “My child, Come unto Me, be not afraid.” Remembering how He smiled,
Could I be anything but glad? O come, Lord Jesus, come! The years have been so long. I yearn To be with Thee, at Home!
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Post by Deleted on May 30, 2011 8:23:22 GMT -6
SECURITY
He hangs the earth upon nothing, And there it stays! Can I not trust Him to keep me All my days?
He holds the stars in their courses, He guides the moon And the suns in their risings and settings, Neither late nor soon.
The lilies are clothed from His bounty, Then why not I? He feeds every humble sparrow, And from the sky
His heart notes their fall with pity. With His own hand He scoops the earth into valleys; He heaps the land
Into ranges of towering mountains; He checks the sea . . . And this is my heavenly Father Who cares for me!
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Post by Deleted on May 30, 2011 23:10:25 GMT -6
AN APPRECIATION By Howard Wren Nicholson To Servicemen and their families, especially Gold Star Parents: I stood upon the dock and watched a loaded transport cast off her lines and start on her long journey to the Pacific battlefront. For hours before she sailed I had looked, at intervals, at that vessel with her every foot of deck room packed with soldiers. They were taking a last long look at the America they loved, charging their memories with all those dear, familiar sights of home. The last line was loosed and the ship came gliding silently past us. No one who has seen a loaded transport taking our boys to the battlefields can ever forget the sight. Against the dark back-drop of deck fittings, and machinery, and guns, stood out that solid mass of olive drab uniforms—at intervals broken by the dark blue dress of the girls—everywhere light faces in contrast with the darker clothes of war. Our boys and girls in uniform! Not a sound broke the stillness. Silent as the march of time was that army of thousands. Not a word, not a laugh, not a cheer, as the vessel slid past us down to the sea. What thoughts were in the hearts of that host I cannot say. But I can well guess that they were sobered by pictures of the steaming jungle hell to which they were going. How well they knew that many of them would not return. I could not keep tears from my eyes nor a sob from my throat. For me, and millions like me, these boys and girls were going to the ends of the earth to fight our battles, because we were too old to do it. They symbolized the millions of the youth of our land who were going abroad to establish our first line of defense that warfare here need not disfigure America as other lands were being destroyed. Over the heads of these soldiers flew the Stars and Stripes, secure in the presence of its defenders. “Flag of the true heart's hope and home, By angel bands to valor given, Its stars have lit the welkin dome And all its hues were born in heaven.” Now the brutal war is over. Our battle flags again are furled. But many home circles are broken. The sons of their love are buried on globe-circling battlefields. To all those who served in our armed forces, and to their parents, I wish to offer my thanks. But to the heart-broken fathers and mothers of those who will never return I want to say a special and a very humble “I thank you.” I know how your hearts are aching for the loved ones who will never return. Only the dear heavenly Father can comfort you. But you would not have had your boys remain safely at home while their country was at war. Side by side with your sorrow is your pride in your boys' part in America's victory. Side by side with the heroes of our whole national history stands the glorious record of your own beloved sons. How fitting that those of us who could only stay at home and serve in a civilian capacity see to it that never shall America suffer destruction at the hands of any foreign foe. How senseless are these wars that settle nothing. Each new one but sows the seeds of future strife. What a tragedy that mankind must confess its inability to prevent war. But there is One who can. When the Prince of Peace comes, whose right it is to reign—then and then only will there be no more war! Gratefully yours, Howard Wren Nicholson
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sallyw
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Post by sallyw on May 31, 2011 4:25:53 GMT -6
Amen.
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Post by Deleted on May 31, 2011 22:56:28 GMT -6
RENDEZVOUS
By Howard Wren Nicholson
Through dragging hours thoughts come and go Of other days in years long gone, When you and I together walked, But now each treads the way alone.
The flying years are but a span Which links the breath of God to man, And oh, a cable strong I see That anchors to eternity!
Come, O ye potent wings of prayer And bear me to my love away; Then we shall meet in worship where The Father hears His child always.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 2, 2011 6:58:32 GMT -6
SEVEN DAYS
To my Sister
Just seven days God gave to us From out His boundless store Of months and years.—It seemed to us He might have given more.
Just seven days in which we tried To capture all the past, To wrest each drop of sweetness from The hours which fled so fast.
Not time, but what one does with time: Although it will not stay, A day may be a thousand years, A thousand years a day.
Once God marked out His seven days, And when the week was done, Behold His handiwork — the earth, The stars, the moon, the sun!
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Post by Deleted on Jun 2, 2011 22:16:47 GMT -6
DESERT SONG
Lonely as time, stranger than fate, Brooding, you call; calling, you wait. Some day I shall come to you To keep our ancient rendezvous. No flying bird could be more fleet Than I on eager winged feet.
Clad in your gown of gold and gray You bare your lovely face by day,
But shroud it with misty veils at night, Woven of silvery delight. When soft winds start and stars hang low, And all is hushed, then I shall know
The heart of you, and shall possess Your mystic secret loveliness, Your beauty and your mystery. Age-old and silent, wait for me! Lonely as time, stranger than fate, Brooding, you call; calling, you wait.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 5, 2011 3:40:36 GMT -6
DESK-TIED
By Howard Wren Nicholson
O heartless hills! You call to me, you cry aloud, You toss each fleecy passing cloud With shoulders free. The blue of heaven you softly press With many a wanton, swift caress. You beckon, and I cannot come To roam your crags and peaks among. O distant, calling, comrade hills! O heartless hills!
O mocking road! You skip and frolic at your play, You leap the brook and run away And beckon me. You scale the dizzy heights that I But dimly see against the sky. You fling their haunting lures at me, And taunt me in your reckless glee, O friendly, winding little road! O mocking road!
O cruel sea! You roll and tumble on the strand, You sift the silvery, shimmering sand Your fingers through. You leap so gaily in the sun, And catch the wavelets as they run. And just because you're strong and free You rend the aching heart of me. O bold, caressing, madcap sea! O cruel sea!
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Post by Deleted on Jun 6, 2011 21:28:44 GMT -6
HIS BEAUTY
There is a perfume in my garden, There is fragrance rich and rare, Scent of hyacinth and jasmine, Breath of roses on the air;
Smiling flowers lift happy faces, And the new leaves of the trees Tremble with a shy sweet rapture In the warm touch of the breeze.
Though my grateful heart sings praises For this loveliness and light, All the beauty He has given For my joy and my delight,
Yet a strange dissatisfaction Haunts and oft torments me sore, Like an unfilled need and hunger, Wanting always more and more.
This small garden is but foretaste Of that country over there Where the tree of life is blooming, Spreading perfume on the air!
There my raptured eyes shall see HIM, In His loveliness and grace; And be satisfied forever With the beauty of His face!
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Post by Deleted on Jun 8, 2011 7:04:27 GMT -6
“Nevertheless we, according to his promise, look for new heavens and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness” (II Peter 3:12). THE OLD EARTH
In that strange day and time to come They will be gone, All the delightful things we know— The rose-flushed dawn,
The mountain peaks which raise their heads To pierce the sky, Green and mysterious forests where Cool shadows lie,
The long white curling broken line Where breakers crash, The bunches of red berries on A mountain-ash,
The quiet meadows and the pools Where cattle wade, The furrows turned in rich dark loam, The willow's shade;
The dear familiar common things, The birds, the breeze, The little streets of humble homes, The roads, — all these
Rolled as a scroll, forever gone! How will it seem To have no memory of earth Save some faint dream?
Look up, trust Him! When earth and stars And moon and sun Are lost and gone, God's best will be But just begun!
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jun 8, 2011 22:00:05 GMT -6
SUNSHINE AFTER RAIN
By Howard Wren Nicholson
Sunshine after rain! From far beyond that greening hill The high blue sky Sets sail its argosies of clouds That spread their silver wings, And race their shadows all day long.
Far, far below, The lark bursts into song, The flowers turn their faces toward the sun In ecstasy That heaven's broken heart is healed, And all its tears are dried! Sunshine after rain!
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Post by Deleted on Jun 9, 2011 22:12:01 GMT -6
HE DIED ALONE
He made the earth, But it had no room for Him; He made the rock, And it was a tomb for Him.
He made the steel Which pierced to the heart of Him, The embedded thorns Which became a part of Him.
He gave their breath To the mob which jeered at Him; He molded the shape Of the faces which leered at Him.
Yet never a tear Did the multitude shed for Him, Though the sin of us all Lay heavy as lead on Him.
He called to God And God turned His face from Him; And He died alone — Marvelous grace of Him!
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jun 12, 2011 23:10:21 GMT -6
FOR WHOM HE DIED
In an indifferent mood I tuned The radio today, And then abruptly came to life. I heard the speaker say,
“A thousand million people live Who never heard Christ's name.” They never knew He died for them, Nor even that He came.
My mind goes back two thousand years; How many billions lost? How many generations gone? O tragic, suffering host!
I throw my pencil down at last, For I refuse to trace Those staggering totals of lost souls. In shame I hide my face.
What have I done to stem this tide? O we who never went To speak the gospel of God's grace, Nor gave, nor prayed, nor sent,
When we appear before Christ's throne, Suppose He asks, that day, Where are the rest for whom I died?” What shall we do or say?
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jun 13, 2011 20:44:40 GMT -6
SIMPLY THIS
The Lord Christ died in agony To save men's souls from hell; And all He asked of us was this: To simply go and tell.
Then why do piteous heathen souls Go daily down to hell? Beloved, it is simply this: We did not go and tell!
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jun 14, 2011 21:11:11 GMT -6
“Who is among you that feareth the LORD, that obeyeth the voice of his servant, that walketh in darkness, and hath no light? let him trust in the name of the LORD, and stay upon his God” (Isaiah 50:10).
WHO WALKS IN DARKNESS
“Who walketh in darkness and hath no light.” When the smothering blackness falls On your pathless way, and the choking gloom Surrounds you like prisoning walls;
“Who walketh in darkness and hath no light.” What could a wayfarer do But stumble and grope and fall to the earth? Would God expect more of you?
“Who walketh in darkness and hath no light.” Here is His promise and Word And it will supply all the light that you need: “Let him TRUST in the name of the Lord!”
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Post by Deleted on Jun 15, 2011 22:01:45 GMT -6
DAYS TO COME
Though I myself shall never stand Before the great white Throne, My name will be in many hearts And on the lips which moan,
“If I had only heeded when She spoke of this to me! Somehow my heart would not believe That it would ever be,
That I should stand before this Throne, So naked and afraid, With all my sins bound to my back, Exactly as she said.”
O Thou who lovest souls of men, Teach me, help me, I pray, To so present Thy Word that some Will never know that day;
But may I hear in heaven's streets, (All glory be to Thee!) From some who say, “Yes, I am here Because you spoke to me.”
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Post by Deleted on Jun 16, 2011 21:32:45 GMT -6
PRESS UPON MY HEART
The clothes and shoes I wear today, The wrist watch on my arm, My wedding ring, this little pin, The quilts which keep me warm —
All these I take for granted, yet Their value is far more Than millions of earth's poor possess Ere their starved lives are o'er.
O wretched lost ones, may you press Upon my heart, and keep Me unforgetting of your need! And Lord, deny me sleep
Or rest unless I yearn to spend Myself for them and Thee, That they, earth's destitute, may be Rich for eternity;
That they may stand before Thee there, Blood-washed, and warmed and fed, Hunger forever satisfied With Thine own living Bread!
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Post by Deleted on Jun 19, 2011 23:14:32 GMT -6
“ And all this assembly shall know that the LORD saveth not with sword and spear: for the battle is the LORD'S, and he will give you into our hands” (I Samuel 17:47). THE BATTLE IS THE LORD'S
The world and I are battling sore! My back against the wall, I fight, but cannot long prevail, For I am weak and small.
My flesh becomes my enemy! I trust not my own heart; It crouches low within my breast And plays a craven's part.
The hosts of hell assail my soul! Lord, I am only one, — Shall I go down in shamed defeat Before this day is done?
The world, the flesh, the devil, all Arrayed against me, Lord! And then it comes, a clarion call From out His holy Word:
“The battle is the LORD'S! Whose then The certain victory? That man need never know defeat Who fully trusts in ME!”
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