Poems in Christian preaching serve as lyrical reflections that express faith, devotion, and spiritual truths through vivid imagery and heartfelt emotion. They often use pictures drawn from nature, daily life, and biblical symbolism to convey God’s presence, grace, and guidance (Psalm 23). These poetic illustrations invite meditation on God’s character and the believer’s journey.
Ah, dearest Jesus, holy Child, Make thee a bed, soft, undefiled, Within my heart, that it may be A quiet chamber kept for Thee.
My heart for very joy doth leap, My lips no more can silence keep, I too must sing, with joyful tongue, That sweetest ancient cradle song,
Glory to God in highest heaven, Who unto man His Son hath given While angels sing with pious mirth. A glad new year to all the earth.
Martin Luther
Praise Him for the incarnation, for the word made flesh.
I will not sing of shepherds watching flocks on frosty nights, or angel choristers.
I will not sing of a stable bare in Bethlehem, or lowing oxen, wise men trailing star with gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
Tonight I will sing praise to the Father who stood on heaven's threshold and said farewell to his Son as he stepped across the stars to Bethlehem and Jerusalem.
And I will sing praise to the infinite, eternal Son, who became most finite, a baby who would one day be executed for my crime.
Praise him in the heavens, Praise him in the stable, Praise him in my heart.
Joseph Bayly
Submitted by Duane Faye
Email - dfay@jvlnet.com
It happened one day near Decembers end,
Two neighbors called on an old time friend,
They found his shop so meager and lean,
Made gay with a thousand bows of green.
Old Conrad was sittin' with face a shine,
As he suddenly stopped as he stitched a twine,
And said, "Friends at dawn today,
When the Cock was crowin' the night away,
The Lord appeared in a dream to me,
And said I'm coming your guest to be.
So I've been busy with feet a stir,
Strewing my shop with branches of fir,
The table is set and the kettle is shined,
And over the rafters the holy is twined.
Now I will sit and wait so I will hear,
His feet as He nears my humble place,
And I'll open the door,
And look on His face."
So Conrads' friends went home
And left Conrad alone,
For this was the happiest day he had known,
For long since his family had passed away,
And Conrad spent many a sad Christmas day,
But this year with the Lord as his Christmas guest,
This Christmas would be the dearest and best.
So he sat with just joy on his heart,
And with every sound he would rise with a start,
And look for the Lord to appear at his door,
Like the vision he had a few hours before.
Conrad ran to the window after hearing a sound,
But all he could see on the snow covered ground,
Was a shabby beggar whose shoes were worn,
And all of his clothes were ragged and torn.
Conrad was touched
So he went to the door,
"Your feet must be frozen and sore,
I have some shoes in my shop for you,
and a coat that will keep you warmer too."
So with grateful heart the man went away,
But Conrad noticed the time of day,
And wondered what made the Lord so late,
and how much longer he'd have to wait.
When suddenly there came a knock at the door,
But it was only a stranger once more.
A bent old lady with a shawl of black,
With a bundle of kindling
Tied on her back.
She only asked for a place to rest,
But that was reserved for Conrads' great guest.
Her voice seemed to plead,
"Don't send me away,
Let me rest a while on Christmas day."
So Conrad brewed her a steaming cup,
And told her to sit at the table and sup.
But after she left he was filled with dismay,
For the hours of Christmas were slipping away,
And the Lord hadn't come as He said He would,
And Conrad felt sure he had misunderstood.
When out of the stillness he hear a cry,
"Please help me and tell me, where am I."
Again Conrad opened his friendly door,
And stood disappointed as twice before.
It was only a child who had wandered away,
And was lost from her family on Christmas day.
Though Conrads' heart was heavy and sad,
He knew he should make the little girl glad,
So he called her in and wiped her tears,
And quieted all her childish fears.
Then he led her back to her home once more.
But as he entered his own darkened door,
He knew the Lord was not coming today,
For the hours of Christmas had passed away.
So Conrad went back to his room,
knelt down and prayed,
"Dear Lord, why did you delay?
What kept you from comin' to call on me?
For I wanted so much your face to see."
Then out of the silence a voice he heard,
"Lift up your head,
For I kept My word.
Three times My shadow crossed your floor,
Three times I came to your lowly door.
For I was the beggar with bruised cold feet,
And I was the women you gave something to eat,
And I was the child on the homeless street,
Three times I knocked,
And three times I came in,
And each time I found the warmth of a friend,
Of all the gifts,
Love is the best,
I was honored to be your Christmas Guest.
Submitted by: Missionary Craig Ledbetter
Blarney, Ireland
Email - craigled@indigo.ie
Christmas is not a computer, or a ceramic doll,
nor some pretty picture hanging on a wall.
It is not made out of metal, plastic or clay,
or with hands, or in big factories of today.
Christmas was born in Bethlehem,
with flesh and with bones,
He had left everything, including His throne.
To be like us, with all our troubles for sure,
for us and for sin, He came to be the cure.
Came to live in a world of such woe,
because only He could reach so low,
And find me buried in my life of distress,
and offer me pardon, peace, and real rest.
I really don't fully understand,
just why the world has no time for Jesus the Man.
They accept a baby in a hay-filled bed,
but a Saviour? Well, they ask for Santa instead.
That cruel crucifixion, so long and severe,
causes even the strongest to wince and to fear.
But for me, and any humble broken heart,
Jesus gives the gift of a completely new start.
A life that's changed from deep within -
a surrender, and a loss that results in a great win!
A win because an empty life gets redeemed -
bought back by God, and now highly esteemed!
So, when people point to the baby in a manger,
or to some Christmas tree or a gift,
You ought to stop and remember,
none can quite compare, or uplift,
Like the Jesus of the Bible,
who died on a tree,
So that heaven could be the home,
of sinners like you, and like me!
A grandparent is warm hugs and sweet memories.
They remember all of your accomplishments and forgets all of your mistakes.
A grandparent is someone you can tell your secrets and worries to, and they hope and pray that all your dreams come true.
A grandparent always loves you,
no matter what.
A grandparent can see past temper tantrums and bad moods, and makes it clear that they don't affect how precious you are to them.
A grandparent has an encouraging word and a tender touch.
A grandparent is full of proud smiles.
A grandparent is a person who loves you with all their heart, who remembers the child you were and cherishes the person you've become.
-- Barbara Cage
New Year. - Psalms 52:1; Psalms 65:11
GREAT God! before thy throne We joyfully appear, In songs to make thy glories known, And thus begin the year.
What favours all divine; What mercies shall we share; What blessings all around us shine To open this new year!
Indulgent goodness spares And still preserves us here, And bounty all divine prepares Supplies for this new year.
Our follies past forgive; Our souls divinely cheer; And help us more to thee to live, Dear Lord, in this new year.
Prepare us for thy will, Whatever may appear; And let thy loving - kindness still Preserve us through the year.
Confirm our souls in thee, In faith and holy fear; And let a precious Jesus be Our song through all the year.
Medley
Dear Lord, as this new year is born
I give it to Thy hand,
Content to walk by faith what paths
I cannot understand.
Whatever coming days may bring
Of bitter loss, or gain,
Or every crown of happiness;
Should sorrow come, or pain,
Or, Lord, if all unknown to me
Thine angel hovers near
To bear me to that farther shore
Before another year,
It matters notmy hand in Thine,
Thy light upon my face,
Thy boundless strength when I am week,
Thy love and saving grace!
I only ask, loose not my hand,
Grip fast my soul, and be
My guiding light upon the path
Till, blind no more, I see!
--Martha Snell Nicholson
Another year I enter
Its history unknown;
Oh, how my feet would tremble
To tread its paths alone!
But I have heard a whisper,
I know I shall be blest;
“My presence shall go with thee,
And I will give thee rest.”
What will the New Year bring me?
I may not, must not know;
Will it be love and rapture,
Or loneliness and woe?
Hush! Hush! I hear His whisper;
I surely shall be blest;
“My presence shall go with thee,
And I will give thee rest.”
—Selected
Submitted by: Stacey Sings
Email - StaciSings@aol.com
Twas the night before Christmas,
He lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house
made of plaster and stone.
I had come down the chimney
with presents to give,
and to see just who
in this home did live.
I looked all about,
a strange sight I did see,
no tinsel, no presents,
not even a tree.
No stockings by the mantle,
Just boots filled with sand,
on the wall hung some pictures
of far distant lands.
With medals and badges,
awards of all kinds,
a sober thought of valor,
came through my mind.
For this house was different,
It was so dark and dreary,
I found the home of a soldier,
Once I could see clearly.
The Soldier lay sleeping,
so silent and alone,
Curled up on the floor
In this one bedroom home.
The face was so gentle,
the room in such disorder,
not how I pictured
a United States Soldier.
Was this the great hero
of whom I’d just read?
Curled up on a poncho,
the floor for a bed?
I realized the families
that I saw this night,
Owed their lives to these soldiers,
who were willing to fight.
Soon ‘round the world,
the children would play,
and grownups would celebrate
a bright Christmas Day.
They all enjoyed freedom
each month of the year,
Because of the soldiers,
Like the one lying here.
I couldn’t help wonder,
how many lay alone,
On a cold Christmas Eve,
In a land far from home.
The very sad thought,
brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees
and started to cry.
The soldier awakened,
and I heard a rough voice,
“Santa, don’t cry...
This life is my choice.”
“I fight for freedom,
I don’t ask for more.
My life is my God,
My Country, My Corps.”
The soldier rolled over,
and drifted to sleep,
I couldn’t control it,
I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours,
so silent and still
and we both shivered greatly,
from the cold night’s chill.
I didn’t want to leave,
on that dark, cold, night,
This guardian of Honor
so willing to fight.
Then the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure,
whispered, “carry on Santa,
It’s Christmas Day, all is secure...”
One look at my watch,
and I knew he was right.
“Merry Christmas, my Friend,
and to all a good night!”
JUST CHECKIN' IN
A minister passing through his church in the middle of the day,
Decided to pause by the altar and see who had come to pray.
Just then the back door opened, a man came down the aisle,
The minister frowned as he saw the man hadn't shaved in awhile.
His shirt was kinda' shabby and his coat was worn and frayed.
The man knelt, bowed his head, then arose and walked away.
In the days that followed each noon time brought this chap
And each time he knelt just for a moment, a lunch pail in his lap.
Well, the minister's suspicions grew, and robbery was his main fear.
He decided to stop the man and ask him, "Watcha' doing' here?"
The old man worked down the road. Lunch was half an hour.
Lunch time was his prayer time, for finding strength and power.
"I stay only moments, see, ‘cause the factory is so far away;
As I kneel here talkin' to the Lord, this is kinda' what I say:
"I just came again to tell You, Lord, how happy I have been,
Since we found each other's friendship and You took away my sin.
I don't know much of how to pray,
But I think about You every day.
So, Jesus, this is Jim just checkin' in."
The minister feeling foolish, told Jim, that this was fine.
He told the man he was welcome to come and pray just anytime.
"Time to go", Jim smiled, said "Thanks." He hurried to the door.
The minister knelt at the altar, he'd never done it before.
His cold heart melted, warmed with love, he met with Jesus there.
As the tears flowed, in his heart, he repeated old Jim's prayer:
"I just came again to tell You, Lord, how happy I have been,
Since we found each other's friendship and You took away my sin.
I don't know much of how to pray,
But I think about You every day.
So, Jesus, this is me just checkin' in."
It was past noon one day, the minister noticed that old Jim hadn't come.
As more days passed without Jim, he began to worry some.
He went to the factory and asked about Jim and found out he was ill.
The hospital staff was worried, but he'd given them a thrill.
The week that Jim was with them, brought changes in the ward.
His smiles, a joy contagious, changed people, his reward.
The head nurse couldn't understand why Jim was so glad,
When no flowers, calls or cards came, not a visitor he had.
The minister stayed by Jim's bed, he voiced the nurse's concern:
No friends came to show they cared; Jim had nowhere to turn.
Looking surprised, old Jim spoke up and with a winsome smile;
"The nurse is wrong, she couldn't know, that everyday at noon
He's here, a dear friend of mine, you see,
He sits right down, takes my hand, leans over and says to me:
"I just came again to tell you, Jim, how happy I have been,
Since we found this friendship, and I took away your sin
I always love to hear you pray,
I think about you each day,
And so my dear Jim, this is Jesus checking in."
*
IT'S IN THE VALLEYS I GROW
Sometimes life seems hard to bear,
Full of sorrow, trouble and woe
It's then I have to remember
That it's in the valleys I grow.
If I always stayed on the mountain top
And never experienced pain,
I would never appreciate God's love
And would be living in vain.
I have so much to learn
And my growth is very slow,
Sometimes I need the mountain tops,
But it's in the valleys I grow.
I do not always understand
Why things happen as they do,
But I am very sure of one thing.
My Lord will see me through.
My little valleys are nothing
When I picture Christ on the cross
He went through the valley of death;
His victory was Satan's loss.
Forgive me Lord, for complaining
When I'm feeling so very low.
Just give me a gentle reminder
That it's in the valleys I grow.
Continue to strengthen me, Lord
And use my life each day
To share your love with others
And help them find their way.
Thank you for valleys, Lord
For this one thing I know
The mountain tops are glorious
But it's in the valleys I grow!
(This poem was written by Jane Eggleston who currently lives in Virginia. Her son Jeff states, "She is a wonderful person, loves Jesus and has been the best mother anyone could ever ask for." What a fitting tribute to any mother.)
Once Upon A Pew
Once upon a pew I sat
And heard the preacher ask,
"We need someone to teach a class,
Now who will take this task?"
Then God sat down beside me there
And said, "Son, that's for you."
"But, Lord, to stand before a class
Is one thing I can't do.
Now Bill would be the man to call,
There's nothing he won't do.
I'd rather hear the lesson taught
From here upon my pew."
Once upon a pew I sat
And heard the preacher ask,
"We need someone to lead the songs,
Now who will take this task?"
Then God sat down beside me there
And said, "Son, that's for you."
"But Lord, to sing before a crowd
Is one thing I can't do.
Now Brother King will do the job,
There's nothing he won't do.
I'd rather hear the music played
From here upon my pew."
Once upon a pew I sat
And heard the preacher ask,
"I need someone to keep the door,
Now who will take this task?"
Then God sat down beside me there
And said, "Son, that's for you."
"But saying things to strangers, Lord,
Is one thing I can't do.
Now Tom can talk to people, Lord,
There's nothing he won't do.
I'd rather someone come to me
And greet me on the pew."
As years just seemed to pass me by,
I heard that voice no more.
Until one night I closed my eyes
And woke on heaven's shore.
'Twas four of us together there
To face eternity.
God said, "I need just three of you
To do a job for me."
"O Lord, I cried, "I'll do the job,
There's nothing I won't do."
But Jesus said, "I'm sorry, Friend,
In Heaven there's no pew."
- Author Unknown
*
Brighten Someone's Day
======================
When My life has reached it’s end,
And I take my final breath,
I want to know I’ve left behind
Some “Good” before my death.
I hope that in my final hour
I can honestly say,
That somewhere in my lifetime,
I have brightened someone’s day.
Maybe I have brought a Smile
To someone else’s face
And made one moment a little brighter
While I lived here ín this place.
Lord, hear my prayer, listen to what I say
Guide me in your path today,
And whisper softly in my ear.
In the years I have left here.
Give to me the strength that I will need
Show me what it is I must know
That I might show Sincere Compassion
And Love to Others Before I go.
If just one heart was touched by mine
And surely a smile was left behind,
Then the life that I had led
Was not one that was filled with dread
With all my heart I truly pray
To have your word guide me this day
That I may reach out and bring a smile
Making my life a bit worthwhile
Smiles Don't Cost a Cent
========================
She smiled at a sorrowful stranger.
The smile seemed to make him feel better.
He remembered past kindness’ of a friend
And wrote him a thank you letter.
The friend was so pleased with the thank you
That he left a large tip after lunch.
The waitress, surprised by the size of the tip,
Bet the whole thing on a hunch.
The next day she picked up her winnings,
And gave part to a man on the street.
The man on the street was grateful;
For two days he’d had nothing to eat.
After he finished his dinner,
He left for his small dingy room.
He didn’t know at that moment
that he might be facing his doom.
On the way he picked up a shivering puppy
And took him home to get warm.
The puppy was very grateful
To be in out of the storm.
That night the house caught on fire.
The puppy barked the alarm.
He barked till he woke the whole household
And saved everybody from harm.
One of the boys that he rescued
Grew up to be President.
All this because of a simple smile
That hadn’t cost a cent.
Have you seen Jesus my Lord
He’s here in plain view
Take a look open your eyes
He’ll show it to you
Have you ever look at the sunset
With the sky mellowing red
And the clouds suspended like feathers
Then I say you’ve seen Jesus my Lord
Have you seen Jesus my Lord
He’s here in plain view
Take a look open your eyes
He’ll show it to you
Have you ever stood at the ocean
With the white foam at your feet
Felt the endless thundering motion
Then I say you’ve seen Jesus my Lord
Have you seen Jesus my Lord
He’s here in plain view
Take a look open your eyes
He’ll show it to you
Have you ever looked at the cross
With a man hanging in pain
And the look of love in his eyes
Then I say you’ve seen Jesus my Lord
In the regular evening meeting
That the church holds every week,
One night a listening angel sat
To hear them pray and speak.
It puzzled the soul of the angel
Why some to that gathering came,
But sick and sinful hearts he saw,
With grief and guilt aflame.
They were silent, but said to the angel,
“Our lives have need of Him!”
While doubt, with dull, vagure, throbbing pain,
Stirred through their spirits dim.
You could see ’twas the regular meeting,
And the regular seats were filled,
And all knew who would pray and talk,
Though any one might that willed.
From his place in front, near the pulpit,
In his long-accustomed way,
When the Book was read, and the hymn was sung,
The deacon arose to pray.
First came the long preamble,—
If Peter had opened so,
He had been, ere the Lord his prayer had heard,
Full fifty fathom below.
Then a volume of information
Poured forth, as if to the Lord,
Concerning his ways and attributres,
And the things by him abhorred.
But not in the list of the latter
Was mentioned the mocking breath
Of the hypocrite prayer that is not prayer,
And the make-believe life in death.
Then he prayed for the church; and the pastor;
And that “souls might be his hire,”—
Whatever his stipend otherwise,—
And the Sunday-school, and the choir;
And the swarming hordes of India;
And the perishing, vile Chinese;
And the millions who bow to the Pope of Rome;
And the pagan churches of Greece;
And the outcast remnants of Judah,
Of whose guilt he had much to tell—
He prayed, or he told the Lord he prayed,
For everything out of hell.
Now, if all that burden had really
Been weighing upon his soul,
’Twould have sunk him through to the China side,
And raised a hill over the hole.
* * * * * * * * *
’Twas the regular evening meeting,
And the regular prayers were made;
But the listening angel told the Lord
That only the silent prayed.
Is this a fast, to keep
The larder leane,
And cleane
From fat of veales and sheep?
Is it to quit the dish
Of flesh, yet still
To fill
The platter high with fish?
Is it to fast an hour,
Or rag’d to go,
Or show
A downcast look, and soure?
No, ’tis a fast to dole
Thy sheaf of wheat,
And meat,
Unto the hungry soule.
It is to fast from strife,
From old debate
And hate;
To circumcise thy life.
To show a heart grief-rent
To starve thy sin,
Not bin;
Ant that’s to keep thy Lent.
And he asked Pharaoh’s officers that were with him in the ward of his lord’s house, saying, Wherefore look ye so sadly to day? (Genesis 40:7 AV)
O my God, my soul is cast down within me: therefore will I remember thee from the land of Jordan, and of the Hermonites, from the hill Mizar. (Psalm 42:6 AV)
And he said unto them, What manner of communications [are] these that ye have one to another, as ye walk, and are sad? (Luke 24:17 AV)
O, child of God, were you sad today?
Did His face seem hidden and turned?
Did pain or sorrow your vision dim?
Were you hands bereft of the touch of Him?
Think no He covers His loving ear
Your song of praise He will quickly hear
But tones grown harsh with complaining care
Can scarcely rise on the wings of prayer
So great is His love for His foolish sheep
So careful the watch His angels keep
He will hear your voice if you softly call
And thwart the force that would cause your fall.
His gifts are good and His mercy sure;
Rest on, beloved, in your faith secure,
Till fears of the night have passed away,
And the gray sky gleams with the gold of day.
LIVE EACH DAY TO THE FULLEST
Live each day to the fullest.
Get the most from each hour, each day, and each age of your life.
Then you can look forward with confidence, and back without regrets.
Be yourself - but be your best self.
Dare to be different and to follow your own star.
And don’t be afraid to be happy.
Enjoy what is beautiful.
Love with all your heart and soul.
Believe that those you love, love you.
Forget what you have done for your friends, and remember what they have done for you.
Disregard what the world owes you, and concentrate on what you owe the world.
When you are faced with a decision, make that decision as wisely as possible – then forget it.
The moment of absolute certainty never arrives.
And above all, remember that God helps those who help themselves.
Act as if everything depended upon you, and pray as if everything depended upon God.
________
S.H. Payer
The poet Mary Lee Hall (1843-1927) wrote “Turn Again To Life” which was read at Princess Diana’s funeral by her sister, Lady Sarah McCorquodale.
“Turn Again To Life”
If I should die and leave you here a while,
be not like others sore undone, who keep
long vigils by the silent dust, and weep.
For my sake – turn again to life and smile,
nerving thy heart and trembling hand to do
something to comfort weaker hearts than thine.
Complete these dear unfinished tasks of mine
and I, perchance may therein comfort you.
THE BLESSING IN "NO"
I asked God to take away my pride.
God said "No".
It is not for me to take away,
but for you to give it up.
I asked God to make my handicapped child
whole. God said "No".
Her spirit was whole,
her body was only temporary.
I asked God to grant me patience.
God said "No".
Patience is a by-product of tribulations;
it isn't granted, it is earned.
I asked God to give me happiness.
God said "No".
I give you blessings,
happiness is up to you.
I asked God to spare me pain.
God said "No".
Suffering draws you apart from worldly
cares and brings you closer to me.
I asked God to make my spirit grow.
God said "No".
You must grow on your own, but I will
prune you to make you fruitful.
I asked for all things
that I might enjoy life.
God said "No".
I will give you life so that you
may enjoy all things.
I ask God to help me LOVE others,
as much as he loves me.
God said... Ahhhh,
finally you have the idea!
- Anonymous
The Christian Athlete's Prayer
It was right before the big one and the Christian athlete said,
"Excuse me for just a second while I go bow my head."
And in the quiet of that room the Christian athlete prayed,
"Oh, God, if nothing hear me now I know that fate is made."
"So help us Lord to win this game, for it's the big one, you see,
If we lose this game that's it for us, please do this, Lord, for me."
And as her body knelt in prayer, she looked up to the sky,
"And while I'm here, and have some time, I need to ask you why?"
"They say you never help teams win, just do it once I pray,
We will pay you back in kinder deeds or in some other way."
The Lord just then replied, "The reason I can't help you win,"
"Is as you're asking me to win, so are my daughters on the other side."
"I'm every Christian's father and I must not take one side,
So games are played all on your own or else they'd all be tied."
"But that doesn't mean you shouldn't pray," He answered her with care,
"You can pray that players don't get hurt and that all the calls are fair."
"And then I won't just watch the game, I'll bless it with my care,
Because, dear daughter, you need to learn that life's not always fair."
And while the player heard this voice, she bowed her head in prayer,
"I pray for fairness," said the girl, "and for your tender care."
"You shall be blessed," the Lord replied, "Your team and you the same,
And now you must excuse me daughter, for I cannot miss this game.
In the regular evening meeting
That the church holds every week,
One night a listening angel sat
To hear them pray and speak.
It puzzled the soul of the angel
Why some to that gathering came,
But sick and sinful hearts he saw,
With grief and guilt aflame.
They were silent, but said to the angel,
“Our lives have need of Him!”
While doubt, with dull, vagure, throbbing pain,
Stirred through their spirits dim.
You could see ’twas the regular meeting,
And the regular seats were filled,
And all knew who would pray and talk,
Though any one might that willed.
From his place in front, near the pulpit,
In his long-accustomed way,
When the Book was read, and the hymn was sung,
The deacon arose to pray.
First came the long preamble,—
If Peter had opened so,
He had been, ere the Lord his prayer had heard,
Full fifty fathom below.
Then a volume of information
Poured forth, as if to the Lord,
Concerning his ways and attributres,
And the things by him abhorred.
But not in the list of the latter
Was mentioned the mocking breath
Of the hypocrite prayer that is not prayer,
And the make-believe life in death.
Then he prayed for the church; and the pastor;
And that “souls might be his hire,”—
Whatever his stipend otherwise,—
And the Sunday-school, and the choir;
And the swarming hordes of India;
And the perishing, vile Chinese;
And the millions who bow to the Pope of Rome;
And the pagan churches of Greece;
And the outcast remnants of Judah,
Of whose guilt he had much to tell—
He prayed, or he told the Lord he prayed,
For everything out of hell.
Now, if all that burden had really
Been weighing upon his soul,
’Twould have sunk him through to the China side,
And raised a hill over the hole.
* * * * * * * * *
’Twas the regular evening meeting,
And the regular prayers were made;
But the listening angel told the Lord
That only the silent prayed.
A PSALM OF LIFE
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream! -
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and time is fleeting,
And our heart, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, -act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.
Footprints, that, perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
THE CALL OF DEATH
What is this that I can't see?
With icy hands taking hold of me?
"I am Death; none can excel,
I open the doors to heaven and hell.
"I'll fix your feet so you can't walk,
I'll lock your jaws so you can't talk,
I'll shut your eyes so you can't see;
This VERY HOUR come go with me."
"O Mother, come to my bed,"
She placed a cold towel on his head,
"My head is hot, my feet are cold,
Death is putting shackles on my soul."
"You heard God's people sing and pray,
You would give no heed, but you walked away,
You would not give your hand and bow your knee,
But now you MUST come and go with me."
"Oh, Death, consider my age,
Please do not take me in this stage,
My wealth is all at your command,
If you'll just lift your icy hand."
"The old, the young, the rich, the poor,
They all alike with me must go;
No land, no silver, no wealth, no gold,
Nothing satisfies me but your soul."
"Oh, Death, how you are treating me,
You are shutting my eyes so I can't see,
You are stretching my limbs, you're making me cold,
You are robbing my body of my soul."
"Oh, yes, I come to get your soul,
To rob the body, and leave it cold,
To drop the flesh from off your frame,
The earth and worms both have a claim."
"Too late! too late! to all farewell;
My doom is fixed, I'm forced to tell,
As long as God in heaven shall dwell,
My soul, my soul shall burn in hell."
By William Moses Tidwell, "Effective Illustrations."
THE CALL OF DEATH
What is this that I can't see?
With icy hands taking hold of me?
"I am Death; none can excel,
I open the doors to heaven and hell.
"I'll fix your feet so you can't walk,
I'll lock your jaws so you can't talk,
I'll shut your eyes so you can't see;
This VERY HOUR come go with me."
"O Mother, come to my bed,"
She placed a cold towel on his head,
"My head is hot, my feet are cold,
Death is putting shackles on my soul."
"You heard God's people sing and pray,
You would give no heed, but you walked away,
You would not give your hand and bow your knee,
But now you MUST come and go with me."
"Oh, Death, consider my age,
Please do not take me in this stage,
My wealth is all at your command,
If you'll just lift your icy hand."
"The old, the young, the rich, the poor,
They all alike with me must go;
No land, no silver, no wealth, no gold,
Nothing satisfies me but your soul."
"Oh, Death, how you are treating me,
You are shutting my eyes so I can't see,
You are stretching my limbs, you're making me cold,
You are robbing my body of my soul."
"Oh, yes, I come to get your soul,
To rob the body, and leave it cold,
To drop the flesh from off your frame,
The earth and worms both have a claim."
"Too late! too late! to all farewell;
My doom is fixed, I'm forced to tell,
As long as God in heaven shall dwell,
My soul, my soul shall burn in hell."
By William Moses Tidwell, "Effective Illustrations."
Universal Rx
No moving parts, no batteries,
No monthly payments and no fees;
Inflation proof, non-taxable,
In fact, it's quite relaxable;
It can't be stolen, won't pollute,
One size fits all, do not dilute.
It uses little energy,
But yields results enormously.
Relieves your tension and your stress
Invigorates your happiness;
Combats depression, makes you beam,
And elevates your self-esteem!
Your circulation it corrects
Without unpleasant side effects.
It is, I think, the perfect drug:
May I prescribe, my friends . . . the hug!
(And, of course, fully returnable!)
By Henry Matthew Ward
from A Cup of Chicken Soup
for the Soul Copyright 1996
by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor
A poem by Peggy Cameron King about an old couple who have been life-long companions expresses this idea well:
Let me hold your hand as we go downhill,
We've shared our strength and we share it still.
It hasn't been easy to make the climb,
But the way was eased by your hand in mine.
Like the lake, our life has had ripples too,
Ill-health, and worries, and payments due,
With happy pauses along the way,
A birth, a graduation, a raise in pay.
At the foot of the slope, we will stop and rest,
Look back if you wish; we've been truly blessed.
We've been spared the grief of being torn apart
By death, or divorce, or a broken heart.
The view ahead is one of the best,
Just a little bit farther, and then we can rest.
We move more slowly, but together still,
Let me hold your hand as ... we go ... downhill.
"Beatitudes for Married Couples"
Blessed are the husband and wife who continue to be affectionate,
considerate and loving after the wedding bells have stopped ringing.
Blessed are the husband and wife who are as polite and courteous
to one another as they are to their friends.
Blessed are they who have a sense of humor, their marriage shall
be much brighter.
Blessed are the parents who abstain from alcohol (I would add ",
tobacco, and drugs"), their children will surely follow their example.
Blessed are they who are faithful to each other and mutually
helpful. God will surely guide them.
Blessed are the husband and wife who thank God for good things which come to them. They shall receive both good things and thankful
children.
Blessed are the parents who recognize their children as gifts
from God, their home shall be filled with love.
Blessed are those mates who make their home a place "where seldom
is heard a discouraging word". They shall inspire others to do
likewise.
Blessed are the parents who attend and support their church.
Their children shall develop a strong fauth.
Blessed is the couple who are good stewards of all God's gifts,
their children will bless them and follow their example.
Blessed are all those whose lives are a testimony of faith in
God, they shall be the channels through which God's kingdom will come
on earth.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow them all the days of their
lives and they shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
From "The Christian Builder," May 24, 1985.
Topics: Saul; David; Judas; Pulpit
Committees;
See Also:\reference{1 Samuel 15:10}{1 Samuel 15:10};
\reference{16:7}{1 Samuel 16:7}
Sad Christmas
Christmas is a bitter day For mothers who are poor, The wistful eyes of children Are daggers to endure.
Though shops are crammed with playthings Enough for everyone. If a mother's purse is empty There might as well be none.
My purse is full of money But I cannot buy a toy; Only a wreath of holly For the grave of my little boy.
—Earl C. Willer
He was a humble workman
With the tools with which he wrought
And he built a common stable,
Or so it was, he thought!
And he fashioned there a manger
Where the cattle could be fed,
Never thinking that the Savior
Would pillow there His head.
He had only built a stable
With a manger in the stall,
Yet it cradled there the Christ-child,
Who is King and Lord of all!
So although our task be humble,
Let us work each day with care;
For we may not know God’s purpose,
Or why He placed us there.
For the manger that formed the cradle
Of our Lord and Savior here,
Was built by a humble workman
In Bethlehem of Judea.
—Henry B. Knox
The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap, His hair was like a light. (O weary, weary is the world, But here is all aright.)
The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast, His hair was like a star. (O stern and cunning are the kings, But here the true hearts are.)
The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart, His hair was like a fire. (O weary, weary is the world, But here the world's desire.)
The Christ-child stood at Mary's knee, His hair was like a crown. And all the flowers looked up at Him, And all the stars looked down.
G.K. Chesterton in The Wild Knight
Ah, dearest Jesus, holy Child, Make thee a bed, soft, undefiled, Within my heart, that it may be A quiet chamber kept for Thee.
My heart for very joy doth leap, My lips no more can silence keep, I too must sing, with joyful tongue, That sweetest ancient cradle song,
Glory to God in highest heaven, Who unto man His Son hath given While angels sing with pious mirth. A glad new year to all the earth.
Martin Luther
Praise Him for the incarnation, for the word made flesh.
I will not sing of shepherds watching flocks on frosty nights, or angel choristers.
I will not sing of a stable bare in Bethlehem, or lowing oxen, wise men trailing star with gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
Tonight I will sing praise to the Father who stood on heaven's threshold and said farewell to his Son as he stepped across the stars to Bethlehem and Jerusalem.
And I will sing praise to the infinite, eternal Son, who became most finite, a baby who would one day be executed for my crime.
Praise him in the heavens, Praise him in the stable, Praise him in my heart.
Joseph Bayly
Submitted by Duane Faye
Email - dfay@jvlnet.com
It happened one day near Decembers end,
Two neighbors called on an old time friend,
They found his shop so meager and lean,
Made gay with a thousand bows of green.
Old Conrad was sittin' with face a shine,
As he suddenly stopped as he stitched a twine,
And said, "Friends at dawn today,
When the Cock was crowin' the night away,
The Lord appeared in a dream to me,
And said I'm coming your guest to be.
So I've been busy with feet a stir,
Strewing my shop with branches of fir,
The table is set and the kettle is shined,
And over the rafters the holy is twined.
Now I will sit and wait so I will hear,
His feet as He nears my humble place,
And I'll open the door,
And look on His face."
So Conrads' friends went home
And left Conrad alone,
For this was the happiest day he had known,
For long since his family had passed away,
And Conrad spent many a sad Christmas day,
But this year with the Lord as his Christmas guest,
This Christmas would be the dearest and best.
So he sat with just joy on his heart,
And with every sound he would rise with a start,
And look for the Lord to appear at his door,
Like the vision he had a few hours before.
Conrad ran to the window after hearing a sound,
But all he could see on the snow covered ground,
Was a shabby beggar whose shoes were worn,
And all of his clothes were ragged and torn.
Conrad was touched
So he went to the door,
"Your feet must be frozen and sore,
I have some shoes in my shop for you,
and a coat that will keep you warmer too."
So with grateful heart the man went away,
But Conrad noticed the time of day,
And wondered what made the Lord so late,
and how much longer he'd have to wait.
When suddenly there came a knock at the door,
But it was only a stranger once more.
A bent old lady with a shawl of black,
With a bundle of kindling
Tied on her back.
She only asked for a place to rest,
But that was reserved for Conrads' great guest.
Her voice seemed to plead,
"Don't send me away,
Let me rest a while on Christmas day."
So Conrad brewed her a steaming cup,
And told her to sit at the table and sup.
But after she left he was filled with dismay,
For the hours of Christmas were slipping away,
And the Lord hadn't come as He said He would,
And Conrad felt sure he had misunderstood.
When out of the stillness he hear a cry,
"Please help me and tell me, where am I."
Again Conrad opened his friendly door,
And stood disappointed as twice before.
It was only a child who had wandered away,
And was lost from her family on Christmas day.
Though Conrads' heart was heavy and sad,
He knew he should make the little girl glad,
So he called her in and wiped her tears,
And quieted all her childish fears.
Then he led her back to her home once more.
But as he entered his own darkened door,
He knew the Lord was not coming today,
For the hours of Christmas had passed away.
So Conrad went back to his room,
knelt down and prayed,
"Dear Lord, why did you delay?
What kept you from comin' to call on me?
For I wanted so much your face to see."
Then out of the silence a voice he heard,
"Lift up your head,
For I kept My word.
Three times My shadow crossed your floor,
Three times I came to your lowly door.
For I was the beggar with bruised cold feet,
And I was the women you gave something to eat,
And I was the child on the homeless street,
Three times I knocked,
And three times I came in,
And each time I found the warmth of a friend,
Of all the gifts,
Love is the best,
I was honored to be your Christmas Guest.
Submitted by: Missionary Craig Ledbetter
Blarney, Ireland
Email - craigled@indigo.ie
Christmas is not a computer, or a ceramic doll,
nor some pretty picture hanging on a wall.
It is not made out of metal, plastic or clay,
or with hands, or in big factories of today.
Christmas was born in Bethlehem,
with flesh and with bones,
He had left everything, including His throne.
To be like us, with all our troubles for sure,
for us and for sin, He came to be the cure.
Came to live in a world of such woe,
because only He could reach so low,
And find me buried in my life of distress,
and offer me pardon, peace, and real rest.
I really don't fully understand,
just why the world has no time for Jesus the Man.
They accept a baby in a hay-filled bed,
but a Saviour? Well, they ask for Santa instead.
That cruel crucifixion, so long and severe,
causes even the strongest to wince and to fear.
But for me, and any humble broken heart,
Jesus gives the gift of a completely new start.
A life that's changed from deep within -
a surrender, and a loss that results in a great win!
A win because an empty life gets redeemed -
bought back by God, and now highly esteemed!
So, when people point to the baby in a manger,
or to some Christmas tree or a gift,
You ought to stop and remember,
none can quite compare, or uplift,
Like the Jesus of the Bible,
who died on a tree,
So that heaven could be the home,
of sinners like you, and like me!
Submitted by: Stacey Sings
Email - StaciSings@aol.com
Twas the night before Christmas,
He lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house
made of plaster and stone.
I had come down the chimney
with presents to give,
and to see just who
in this home did live.
I looked all about,
a strange sight I did see,
no tinsel, no presents,
not even a tree.
No stockings by the mantle,
Just boots filled with sand,
on the wall hung some pictures
of far distant lands.
With medals and badges,
awards of all kinds,
a sober thought of valor,
came through my mind.
For this house was different,
It was so dark and dreary,
I found the home of a soldier,
Once I could see clearly.
The Soldier lay sleeping,
so silent and alone,
Curled up on the floor
In this one bedroom home.
The face was so gentle,
the room in such disorder,
not how I pictured
a United States Soldier.
Was this the great hero
of whom I’d just read?
Curled up on a poncho,
the floor for a bed?
I realized the families
that I saw this night,
Owed their lives to these soldiers,
who were willing to fight.
Soon ‘round the world,
the children would play,
and grownups would celebrate
a bright Christmas Day.
They all enjoyed freedom
each month of the year,
Because of the soldiers,
Like the one lying here.
I couldn’t help wonder,
how many lay alone,
On a cold Christmas Eve,
In a land far from home.
The very sad thought,
brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees
and started to cry.
The soldier awakened,
and I heard a rough voice,
“Santa, don’t cry...
This life is my choice.”
“I fight for freedom,
I don’t ask for more.
My life is my God,
My Country, My Corps.”
The soldier rolled over,
and drifted to sleep,
I couldn’t control it,
I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours,
so silent and still
and we both shivered greatly,
from the cold night’s chill.
I didn’t want to leave,
on that dark, cold, night,
This guardian of Honor
so willing to fight.
Then the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure,
whispered, “carry on Santa,
It’s Christmas Day, all is secure...”
One look at my watch,
and I knew he was right.
“Merry Christmas, my Friend,
and to all a good night!”
"He who seeks the truth and trembles
At the dangers he must brave,
Is not fit to be a free man...
He at best, is but a slave.
Be thou like the first apostle,
Be thou like heroic Paul;
If a free thought seek expression,
Speak it boldly, speak it all.
Face thine enemies, thine accusers,
Scorn the prison, the rack, the rod;
And, if thou hast truth to utter,
Speak, and leave the rest to God."
Good Timber
The tree that never had to fight
For sun and sky and air and light,
Never became a forest king,
But lived and died a common thing.
The man who never had to toil,
Who never had to win his share
Of sun and sky and light and air,
Never became a manly man,
But lived and died as he began.
Good timber does not grow on ease.
The stronger the wind, the tougher trees,
The farther sky, the greater length
By sun and cold, by rain and snow,
In tree or man good timber grows.
- Douglas Malloch, quoted in Resource, Sept./Oct., 1992, Page 7
"YOUR SURNAME"
You got it from your dear father,
It was the best he had to give.
So it's yours to use and cherish
for ere as long as you may live.
If you lose the watch he gave you,
the watch can always be replaced.
But a black mark on your surname,
child, can not ever be erased.
It was clean the day you took it,
and it's a worthy name to bear.
When he got it from his father,
there was only great honor there.
So make sure you guard it wisely,
and never ever do things wild.
You'll be glad that name is spotless
when you give it to your child.
by: Robert Goode Rockwell
20 August 1988
"He who seeks the truth and trembles
At the dangers he must brave,
Is not fit to be a free man...
He at best, is but a slave.
Be thou like the first apostle,
Be thou like heroic Paul;
If a free thought seek expression,
Speak it boldly, speak it all.
Face thine enemies, thine accusers,
Scorn the prison, the rack, the rod;
And, if thou hast truth to utter,
Speak, and leave the rest to God."
Poem XIII of "A Shropshire Lad," by A. E. Housman (1859-1936)
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
“Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies,
But keep your fancy free.”
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
“The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
’Tis paid with sighs a-plenty
And sold for endless rue.”
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.
EXAMPLE
Author Unknown
It is all vain to preach of the truth
To the eager ears of a trusting youth,
If, when the lad is standing by,
He sees you cheat and hears you lie.
Fine words may grace the advice you give
But the youth will learn from the way you live.
Honor's a word that a thief may use,
High sounding language the base may choose.
Speech is empty and preaching vain,
Though the truth shines clear and the lesson is plain.
If you play false, he will turn away,
For your life must be square with the things you say.
The longer you live, you will find this true;
As you would teach, you must also do,
Rounded sentences, smooth and fair,
Were better not said if your deeds aren't square.
If you'd teach him to live his very best,
You must live your life to the self-same test.
--Faith & Thought, Pittsburg, TX
Eternal Ink
I dreamed I was in heaven
Where an angel kept God's book
He was writing so intently
I just had to take a look.
It was not, at first, his writing
That made me stop and think
But the fluid in the bottle
That was marked eternal ink.
This ink was most amazing,
Dark black upon his blotter
But as it touched the parchment
It became as clear as water
The angel kept on writing
But as quickly as a wink
The words were disappearing
With that strange eternal ink
The angel took no notice,
But kept writing on and on
He turned each page and filled it Till all its space was gone.
I thought he wrote to no avail,
His efforts were so vain
For he wrote a thousand pages
That he'd never read again.
And as I watched and wondered that
This awesome sight was mine,
I actually saw a word stay black
As it dried upon the line.
The angel wrote and I thought I saw A look of satisfaction.
At last he had some print to show For all his earnest action.
A line or two dried dark and stayed As black as black can be, But
strangely the next paragraph
Became invisible to see.
The book was getting fuller,
The angel's records true,
But most of it was blank, with
Just a few words coming through.
I knew there was some reason,
But as hard as I could think,
I couldn't grasp the significance
Of that eternal ink.
The mystery burned within me,
And I finally dared to ask
The angel to explain to me
Of his amazing task.
And what I heard was frightful
As the angel turned his head.
He looked directly at me,
And this is what he said...
I know you stand and wonder
At what my writing's worth
But God has told me to record
The lives of those on earth.
The book that I am filling
Is an accurate account
Of every word and action
And to what they do amount.
And since you have been watching
I must tell you what is true;
The details of my journal
Are the strict accounts of YOU
The Lord asked me to watch you As each day you worked and played. I saw
you as you went to
church, I saw you as you prayed.
But I was told to document
Your life through all the week.
I wrote when you were proud and bold, I wrote when you were meek.
I recorded all your attitudes Whether they were good or bad.
I was sorry that I had to write
The things that make God sad.
So now I'll tell the wonder
Of this eternal ink,
For the reason for its mystery
Should make you stop and think.
This ink that God created
To help me keep my journal
Will only keep a record of
Things that are eternal.
So much of life is wasted
On things that matter not
So instead of my erasing,
Smudging ink and ugly blot.
I just keep writing faithfully and
Let the ink do all the rest
For it is able to decide
What's useless and what's best.
And God ordained that as I write Of all you do and say Your deeds that
count for nothing Will just
disappear away.
When books are opened someday
As sure as heaven is true;
The Lord's eternal ink will tell
What mattered most to you.
If you just lived to please yourself
The pages will be bare,
And God will issue no reward
For you when you get there.
In fact, you'll be embarrassed, You will hang your head in shame Because
you did not give yourself
In love to Jesus' Name.
Yet maybe there will be a few
Recorded lines that stayed
That showed the times you truly cared, Sincerely loved and prayed.
But you will always wonder
As you enter heaven's door
How much more glad you would have been If only you'd done more.
For I record as God sees,
I don't stop to even think
Because the truth is written
With God's eternal ink.
When I heard the angel's story
I fell down and wept and cried
For as yet I still was dreaming
I hadn't really died.
And I said: O angel tell the Lord
That soon as I awake
I'll live my life for Jesus
I'll do all for His dear sake.
I'll give in full surrender;
I'll do all He wants me to;
I'll turn my back on self and sin
And whatever isn't true.
And though the way seems long and rough I promise to endure.
I'm determined to pursue the things That are holy, clean and pure.
With Jesus as my helper,
I will win lost souls to Thee,
For I know that they will live with Christ For all eternity.
And that's what really matters
When my life on earth is gone
That I will stand before the Lord
And hear Him say, well done.
For is it really worth it
As my life lies at the brink?
And I realize that God keeps books With His eternal ink.
Should all my life be focused
On things that turn to dust?
>From this point on I'll serve the Lord;
I can, I will, I must!
I will NOT send blank pages
Up to God's majestic throne
For where that record's going now Is my eternal home.
I'm giving all to Jesus
I now have seen the link
For I saw an angel write my life
With God's eternal ink.
Author Unknown
"He who seeks the truth and trembles
At the dangers he must brave,
Is not fit to be a free man...
He at best, is but a slave.
Be thou like the first apostle,
Be thou like heroic Paul;
If a free thought seek expression,
Speak it boldly, speak it all.
Face thine enemies, thine accusers,
Scorn the prison, the rack, the rod;
And, if thou hast truth to utter,
Speak, and leave the rest to God."
I watched them tear a building down,
A band of men in a busy town.
With a `HO-HEAVE-HO' and a lusty yell,
They swung a beam and the sidewalk fell.
I asked the foreman, Are these men skilled?
And the men you'd hire if you had to build?
He gave a laugh and said, No indeed!
Common labor is all I need.
I can easily wreck in a day or two,
What builders have taken a year to do.
And I thought to myself as I went on my way,
Which of these roles have I tried to play?
Am I a builder who works with care?
Measuring life by the rule and square?
Am I shaping my deeds to a well-made plan,
Patiently doing the best I can?
Or am I a wrecker who walks the town,
Content with the labor of tearing down?
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