Tag: poem

Take time to be holy, speak oft with thy Lord;

Abide in Him always, and feed on His Word.

Make friends of God’s children, help those who are weak,

Forgetting in nothing His blessing to seek.

Take time to be holy, the world rushes on;

Spend much time in secret, with Jesus alone.

By looking to Jesus, like Him thou shalt be;

Thy friends in thy conduct His likeness shall see.

Take time to be holy, let Him be thy Guide;

And run not before Him, whatever betide.

In joy or in sorrow, still follow the Lord,

And, looking to Jesus, still trust in His Word.

Take time to be holy, be calm in thy soul,

Each thought and each motive beneath His control.

Thus led by His Spirit to fountains of love,

Thou soon shalt be fitted for service above.

*Words by William D. Longstaff

I hear the sound of rustling in the leaves of the trees,

The Spirit of the Lord has come down on the earth.

The Church that seemed in slumber has now risen from its knees

And dry bones are responding with the fruits of new birth.

Oh this is now a time for declaration,

The word will go to all men everywhere;

The Church is here for healing of the nations,

Behold the day of Jesus drawing near.

My tongue will be the pen of a ready writer,

And what the Father gives to me I’ll sing;

I only want to be His breath,

I only want to glorify the King.

And all around the world the body waits expectantly,

The promise of the Father is now ready to fall.

The watchmen on the tower all exhort us to prepare

And the church responds – a people who will answer the call.

And this is not a phase which is passing,

It’s the start of an age that is to come.

And where is the wise man and the scoffer?

Before the face of Jesus they are dumb.

A body now prepared by God and ready for war,

The prompting of the Spirit is our word of command.

We rise, a mighty army, at the bidding of the Lord,

The devils see and fear, for their time is at hand.

And children of the Lord hear our commission

That we should love and serve our God as one,

The Spirit won’t be hindered by division

In the perfect work that Jesus has begun.

Lyrics by Ronnie Wilson

The Touch of the Master’s Hand

T’was battered and scarred, and the auctioneer

thought it hardly worth his while

To waste his time on the old violin,

but he held it up with a smile.

“What am I bidden, good folks”, he cried,

“Who’ll start the bidding for me?”

A dollar, a dollar, then two! Only two?

Two dollars, and who’ll make it three?

Three dollars, once;, three dollars, twice;

Going for three . . .”

But, no,

From the room far back, a grey-haired man

Came forward and picked up the bow;

Then, wiping the dust from the old violin,

And tightening up the strings,

He played a melody pure and sweet

As a caroling angel sings.

The music ceased, and the auctioneer,

With a voice that was quiet and low, said:

“What now am I bid for this old violin?”

As he held it up with the bow.

“A thousand dollars, and who’ll make it two?”

“Two thousand! And who’ll make it three?”

“Three thousand, once, three thousand, twice;

And going and gone”, said he.

The people cheered, but some of them cried,

“We do not quite understand, what changed its worth?”

Swift came the reply;

“The Touch of the Master’s Hand.”

And many a man with life out of tune

And battered and scarred with sin,

Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd

Much like the old violin

A mess of pottage, a glass of wine;

A game – and he travels on.

He’s going once, and going ‘twice,

He’s ‘going and almost gone’.

But the Master comes and the foolish crowd

Never can quite understand

The worth of a soul and the change that’s wrought

By The Touch of the Master’s Hand.

Myra Brooks Welch (1877 – 1959)

Peace Prayer of Saint Francis

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Amen.

FOOTPRINTS IN THE SAND

One night I dreamed a dream.
As I was walking along the beach with my Lord.
Across the dark sky flashed scenes from my life.
For each scene, I noticed two sets of footprints in the sand,
One belonging to me and one to my Lord.

After the last scene of my life flashed before me,
I looked back at the footprints in the sand.
I noticed that at many times along the path of my life,
especially at the very lowest and saddest times,
there was only one set of footprints.

This really troubled me, so I asked the Lord about it.
“Lord, you said once I decided to follow you,
You’d walk with me all the way.
But I noticed that during the saddest and most troublesome times of my life,
there was only one set of footprints.
I don’t understand why, when I needed You the most, You would leave me.”

He whispered, “My precious child, I love you and will never leave you
Never, ever, during your trials and testings.
When you saw only one set of footprints,
It was then that I carried you.

by Margaret Fishback Powers

The Weaver

“My life is but a weaving
Between my God and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He weaveth steadily.

Oft’ times He weaveth sorrow;
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I the underside.

Not ’til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas
And reveal the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful
In the weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned

He knows, He loves, He cares;
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives the very best to those
Who leave the choice to Him.”

By Grant Colfax Tullar