Poetry

Reflections on Psalm 113

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Merge with the ongoing chorus;
Introduce the new refrain:
Jesus Christ our Lord died for us!
Magnify the Lamb once slain!
God has lifted up the faces
Of the weary, weak, and worn.
By his grace, they bear no traces
Of their death. In him, tis shorn.
Praise, oh praise his name, O people,
From this moment evermore.
Lowest valley, highest steeple –
Likewise heed the holy roar.
Who is like the Lord Almighty,
God above what eyes can see,
Never fickle, never flighty,
Constant through eternity?

Haunted House

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Haunted House

Our homes were never meant to harbor hell,
And none but this one did so quite so well.
Just past these doorposts lies a darkened world,
And past these portals, horrors are unfurled;
And hopeless are these walls, for want of light
Doth plague this home inhabited by night.
A broken staircase hides the higher realms,
The faded family portrait overwhelms,
And traces of the life that could have been
Are broken on the floor, this devil’s den.
The ghosts of my forefathers walk these rooms.
This dwelling place is home to many tombs,
Memorials to tragedy and pain.
The curse of ages past has left its stain.
Corruption reaches to the cornerstone.
This house was built of blood and born of death.
This history still haunts the present time.
The forlorn fate of this dead wood and stone
Is to keep from its occupant the breath
That urges him to flee, to fight, to climb.

Photo by Daniel Olah on Unsplash

Reminding Myself

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Reminding Myself.jpg

Soul, be silent. Listen well.
Hope in God, and pray.
He who saved your soul from hell
Will bring you through this day.
Worry never. Doubt him less.
Know that he is God.
Learn to live in humbleness,
And trust your Shepherd’s rod.
Fix your focus. Do not shirk.
Stand as he has stood.
He will cause all things to work
Together for your good.
If this day should end in death,
Sing the last refrain.
Faithful to the final breath,
At last, to die is gain.

Photo by Artem Sapegin on Unsplash

Perspective

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Perspective poem.jpg

The heart that hurts to hold the hand
Of one who shares both heart and name
Can only ever understand
The purpose past the painful game
By fixing eyes upon the Lord
Who sov’reignly provides for needs
And knowing that the piercing sword
Is severing the sickly weeds
Which would corrupt the growing fruit
For which we labor, trust, and pray.
God sees the garden at the root
And guides us toward the light of day.

Photo by Natalie Collins on Unsplash

The Problem of Evil

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The Problem of Pain.jpg

As history has been unfurled,
One question ‘gainst the church has stood:
From whence came evil to this world
If God created all things good?
We grant some evil works for gain,
Some purpose may be found therein;
Yet is there not much needless pain,
Much suffering because of sin?
Could God not keep his world from death,
Or – bitter thought – might he desire
To curse those he hath filled with breath,
To see them sinking in the mire?
Or might it be that he allows
His people to rebel, to stray,
That they may truly then avow
His lordship, then may truly pray?
And could it be that majesty
Did not abandon to decay
Damned souls, but there upon the tree
Engaged in full the sinner’s fray?
Christ bore the wrath of God in place
Of those who chose the path to hell
That they might turn to seek the face
Of love, to taste the one true well.
God’s justice cometh like a flame,
And evil will not stand the show.
I may not know from whence it came,
But well I know where it will go.

(Photo by Artsy Vibes on Unsplash)

The Practice of Prayer

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The Practice of Prayer.jpg

(Photo by Olivia Snow on Unsplash)

O Father, how I struggle so
To come before your throne.
In public, pray’r oft turns to show;
In private, how I drone.
Though you twice o’er gave life to me,
I come still wanting more –
Unwarranted expectancy
Now knocking at your door.
No more.
Let thine own will alone be done,
And let thy kingdom come.
Let me in life reflect the Son,
To love, and be not numb.
Grant that my tastes are tempted not
By poverty nor wealth.
Peace and forgiveness, be my lot;
Humility, my health.
O Father who in heaven dwells
In holiness and light,
Keep me away from worthless wells,
From trusting in my might.
God, grant me eyes to recognize
Your grandeur and your grace.
Teach me to treasure you as prize,
And ever seek your face.

Redemption’s Rhyme

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(Photo cred: Mitchell Martin – Instagram: @mitchellrmartin )

Within this world of fiction,
I yearn for heaven’s diction
To deepen my conviction.

I feel the present friction
From our great self-infliction,
And long for sin’s eviction.

Though strong the serpent’s striction,
He faces grave restriction
In all of his affliction.

For Christ, the great nonfiction,
God’s visible depiction,
Fulfilled the Word’s prediction.

All Along

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The Lamb, The Lion.jpg

The sacrificial lamb was laid upon
The altar by the hands of wicked men,
And all was dark the days before the dawn
In the apparent victory of sin.
The lesser lion, seeking to devour,
Set his assault against the sacred son,
And Satan, in the darkness of the hour,
Was certain that the victory was won.
And so it was, but not for his array.
The cross of Christ displayed for all to see
That Satan’s claim to power had been wrong.
The finished hunter had become the prey.
The word made flesh fulfilled the prophecy.
The lamb had been a lion all along.

Photo by lydia harper on Unsplash