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Post by Deleted on Aug 21, 2011 22:40:53 GMT -6
REMEMBRANCE
You walk within the jasper walls And stop sometimes to greet A host of friends both new and old With whom you chance to meet.
The golden streets stretch far ahead; The tree of life blooms fair; There is no shadow, yet no need Of sun nor candle there.
For over all God's glory shines, And in His light you walk . . . How can you miss me, my dear Love? Yet sometimes when you talk
With Mother, I am sure you speak My little name, and say, “Ah, yes, we shall do thus and so When Martie comes some day!”
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Post by Deleted on Aug 22, 2011 21:13:37 GMT -6
I WOULD NOT
I would not turn my life's clock back To live our years again; For once to live and once to die Is given unto men.
I would not, if I could, beg God To give you back to me. How could I ask you to relive That year of agony?
I would not have you saddened, dear, By tears I sometimes shed; For it is by your joy and peace That I am comforted.
I would not plead to go to you, Nor pray, “Lord, take me home.” His will, His plan for me, His time, — But O, Lord Jesus, come!
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Post by Deleted on Aug 23, 2011 21:41:21 GMT -6
“LIKE HIM”
Beloved, have you grown like Him? It seems so strange to me. The tender, human ways of you, Your laughter . . . Can it be
That you are like Him now, while I Am weak and mean and small? How can I stand beside you, you So beautiful and tall?
I know your arms would hold me close, Your dear voice speak my name; But though my heart would brim with joy, My cheeks would blush with shame.
Foolish! Remembering, my eyes With happy tears are dim: Dear Love, when next you see my face, I too shall be like Him!
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Post by Deleted on Aug 24, 2011 20:47:19 GMT -6
BESIDE THE GATE
I think that every day perhaps you wait A little while for me beside the gate
Before you go about some heavenly task, In case that I might come. Dear, could you ask
That you be told a bit ahead, so you Could be awaiting me as I pass through?
He will be glad, — He made the hearts of men, — To see us there together once again.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 28, 2011 20:48:13 GMT -6
ENOUGH
I'm tired dear, in mind and heart. I do not know What further tasks He has for me Before I go.
How strange that He should take the strong And leave the weak To walk alone, and work; and yet I do not seek
To know His reasons, for HE knows. I only pray, “Show me Thy path, give me Thy strength, Just for today.”
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Post by Deleted on Aug 29, 2011 20:03:03 GMT -6
WAITING
Not once have I said to myself, “The one I love is dead.” He is as much alive as on The day when we were wed.
The only difference is that he Lives in another place: And since it is so far of course I cannot see his face
Nor hear his voice; and yet somehow I live each day with him; And even though at times my eyes With longing tears grow dim,
Yet through long days and longer nights, My heart exults and sings Because he is forever safe. I wait Until my spirit wings
Its way through space to join him there, And to forever be With Christ our Lord, and with my love, Through all eternity!
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Post by Deleted on Aug 30, 2011 21:15:43 GMT -6
SURCEASE
I kept your rough brown coat, dear Love; The rest I gave away. But this one dear familiar thing I saved against that day
When pent-up grief, in full flood tide, Sweeps over me, and woe And loss so deep I never dreamed That any heart could know.
Only God can plumb such depths; Surely He will not care Nor think me foolish, weak, because The coat is hanging there.
There is no comfort, no sweet balm, Like that of His; yet such These hearts of ours . . . He understands . . . We crave the human touch.
And when I press my cheek once more Where often I found rest, He gives me peace, and finally strength, To say, His will is BEST!
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Post by Deleted on Aug 31, 2011 21:05:03 GMT -6
OUR YEARS
Where have the long years gone, dear Love? They slipped away so fast That scarce could we greet the morning light Ere it was gone and past.
And was there music for us, dear Love, And joy, in the fleeting years? Beloved, together we have heard The singing of the spheres!
Did the years bring beauty to us, dear Love? Aye, tapestries so rare That the angels themselves could scarcely weave Another one half as fair.
And why were our years so rich, dear Love, In this strange and troubled land? Because there was One who walked with us, And led us by the hand.
And what was the fruit of our years, dear Love? Beloved, we shall not know Upon this earth, for we cannot see Nor gather it here below.
Shall we ever find them again, dear Love, Those years that were so sweet? He will give them back with His own dear hand When we kneel at last at His feet!
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Post by Deleted on Sept 5, 2011 21:46:53 GMT -6
THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE SAINTS
You always liked it when friends came to call, And we would sit and talk, and somehow all
Our talk led on to Him—His grace, His love, The home He has prepared for us above;
His beauty and His majesty, the way His patience never fails, and we would say,
“Sometimes, to someone sitting here tonight, If He should tarry, there will come a light,
Then sudden joy,” and we would wonder who Would be the first to go,—and it was you!
And now you chat with angels every day, As I with neighbors just across the way.
And you have quickly grown accustomed to The ivory palaces. I picture you
Standing beside your door and greeting all The friends and loved ones who have come to call.
Your parents and my own,—so much to tell, So much to hear about. Your hearts will swell
With joy . . . Those dear ones who went on ahead, — Strange to remember that we mourned these dead!
And some day Paul and Barnabas may come, And David too, into your very home,
And even Adam with reluctant tongue, To tell of Eden when the world was young,
Moses and Moody, Joshua and John, Coming in friendly groups or one by one.
Your eagerness, your quick responsiveness, How well I know them! Nothing to distress,
No one to say, “Don't get too tired, dear.” Ah, time is counted not by hours here.
The fellowship of saints! And once again The talk is of Christ's wondrous love to men.
Perhaps, perhaps,—I hardly dare to hope, — Some day will HE be there within that group?
The fellowship of saints! My very dear, How could I ever, ever wish you here!
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Post by Deleted on Sept 6, 2011 21:25:21 GMT -6
LETTER TO MY HUSBAND
A circle has opened and let me in, A circle I never knew When you and I were together here, A circle of women who Are gallant and brave and carry on, Facing the lonely years, Beginning each day with a lifted head, Drying the midnight tears; The circle of women who lost their men. Daily they play their part, But each one knows that the other bears A hidden and bleeding heart.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 7, 2011 20:59:32 GMT -6
A TRIBUTE TO MY HUSBAND On April 22, 1948, a door opened in heaven, and my beloved husband, Howard Wren Nicholson, entered in. He dwells now in that land which is afar off, but which has long seemed dear and familiar to us because we have lived so dose to it,—I for many, many years and he for fourteen months. When Paul was caught up into it even briefly he glimpsed such unspeakable glories that he was unable to put them into words. Yet this place is now home to my beloved. He daily walks there, amid fullness of joy and pleasures forevermore. The glory of God is all about him, and he sees the face of Him whom he served so faithfully. As the ages unroll, his delight will only be increased. He is waiting eagerly for me, and when I join him “we shall ever be with the Lord.” A sense of his utter joy and safety floods my soul, even while my heart is bleeding. During all our life together, especially the long years of my invalidism, he carried me on the palms of his hands. His tenderness and strength never failed me. His zest for living, his refreshing enthusiasm, his fine keen mind, his high principles and unwavering faith—God will use them in His service throughout eternity; but my tired heart asks, what shall I do without them? It is hard to understand why he should be taken and I should be left, alone and weak and helpless as I am, but our dear Lord knows the reason and when He explains it to me I shall be satisfied. Meanwhile He wonderfully sustains, a day at a time. I shall try to carry on the tract and book work to which my husband gave so much of his time and strength. May I ask you to pray that I may so live that I may not be a disappointment to him and to my precious Lord? Howard was a strong, vigorous outdoor type of man, and to be laid low with coronary heart trouble and forced to spend 14 months in bed was harder for him than my years of invalidism were for me. But it was a joy to see him daily growing in grace, and to know that he will be richer through all eternity because of that year in bed. Among his things I found this slip of paper, evidently the dedication of the book he was planning to write: “Dedicated to my dear wife, whose Christian courage and fortitude are ever my inspiration, whose loving devotion my strong tower.” All my earthly days I shall wear these words proudly, like a crown, and some day soon shall lay them at our dear Lord's feet as together we bow before Him . . . Come quickly, Lord Jesus, come quickly! — MARTHA SNELL NICHOLSON
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Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2011 22:54:28 GMT -6
LORD LET ME NOT FORGET
Lord, let me not forget this pain, For it has come to be A tide which bears me on its crest, Closer, dear Lord, to Thee.
Lord, let me not forget this grief, Because, from day to day, I learn how tender is the hand Which wipes my tears away.
Lord, let me not forget how weak I am, but how Thy strength Is all-sufficient, and supplies The need of each day's length.
Let me forget not that my sin Cost Thy last drop of blood As though 'twere shed for me alone, O, blessed Son of God!
Remembering these, the day I stand And look into Thy face, It may be I can faintly glimpse The measure of Thy grace! HIS PRECIOUS PROMISES
O blessed chain of promises, One end bound to my heart, one fast In God's own hand, and with it He Will draw me safely home at last! THE END
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