Tag: Poems

Do The Next Thing!

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“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” ~ Philippians 4:13

From an old English parsonage down by the sea
There came in the twilight a message to me;
Its quaint Saxon legend, deeply engraven,
Hath, it seems to me, teaching from Heaven.
And on through the doors the quiet words ring
Like a low inspiration: “DO THE NEXT THING.”

Many a questioning, many a fear,
Many a doubt, hath its quieting here.
Moment by moment, let down from Heaven,
Time, opportunity, and guidance are given.
Fear not tomorrows, child of the King,
Trust them with Jesus, do the next thing

Do it immediately, do it with prayer;
Do it reliantly, casting all care;
Do it with reverence, tracing His hand
Who placed it before thee with earnest command.
Stayed on Omnipotence, safe ‘neath His wing,
Leave all results, do the next thing.

Looking for Jesus, ever serener,
Working or suffering, be thy demeanor;
In His dear presence, the rest of His calm,
The light of His countenance be thy psalm,
Strong in His faithfulness, praise and sing.
Then, as He beckons thee, do the next thing.

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**Old Anonymous Poem as told by Elisabeth Elliot / Photo by Tara Winstead at Pexels

The Master’s Vessel

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The Master’s Vessel

The Master was searching for a vessel to use; On the shelf there were many – which one would He choose? “Take me”, cried the gold one, “I’m shiny and bright, I’m of great value and I do things just right. My beauty and luster will outshine the rest And for someone like You, Master, gold would be the best!”

The Master passed on with no word at all; He looked at a silver urn, narrow and tall; “I’ll serve You, dear Master, I’ll pour out Your drink, and I’ll be at Your table whenever You dine, My lines are so graceful, my carvings so true, And my silver will always compliment You.”

Unheeding the Master passed on to the brass, It was wide mouthed and shallow, and polished like glass. “Here! Here!” cried the vessel, “I know I will do, Place me on Your table for all men to view.”

“Look at me”, called the goblet of crystal so clear, “My transparency shows my contents so dear, Though fragile am I, I will serve You with pride, And I’m sure I’ll be happy in Your house to abide.”

The Master came next to a vessel of wood, Polished and carved, it solidly stood. “You may use me, dear Master”, the wooden bowl said, “But I’d rather You used me for fruit, not for Bread!”

Then the Master looked down and saw a vessel of clay. Empty and broken it helplessly lay. No hope had the vessel that the Master might choose, To cleanse and make whole, to fill and to use.

“Ah! This is the vessel I’ve been hoping to find, I will mend and use it and make it all Mine.” “I need not the vessel with pride of its self; Nor the one who is narrow to sit on the shelf; Nor the one who is big mouthed and shallow and loud; Nor one who displays his contents so proud; Not the one who thinks he can do all things just right; But this plain earthy vessel filled with My power and might.”

Then gently He lifted the vessel of clay. Mended and cleansed it and filled it that day. Spoke to it kindly. “There’s work you must do, Just pour out to others as I pour into you.”

Less of Me

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Let me be a little kinder

Let me be a little blinder to the faults of those of around me

Let me praise a little more 

Let me be when I am weary, Just a little bit more cheery

think a little more of others, and a little less of me 

Let me be a little braver, when temptations make me waver

Let me strive a little harder, to be all that I could be

 Let me be a little meeker, with a brother who is weaker

Let me think more of my neighbour, and a little less of me 

Let me be a little nearer, let me speak a little clearer

of the One who came to love me, who died to set me free 

Let me be when I am weary, just a little bit more cheery

Let me think more of my neighbour, and a little less of me 

Let me climb a little higher, let me think a little purer

Let me help all those around me, who are so much in need 

Let me be a little closer, to be a brother who’s a loser

Let me climb a little higher, In every word and deed. 

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*Base tune and lyrics by Glen Campbell

Afraid of What?

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E.H. Hamilton, a Presbyterian missionary to China, wrote the poem below to reflect upon and commemorate the martyrdom of his fellow missionary J.W. Vinson (1880-1931). In October 1931, as Vinson visited some believers 18 miles from his mission station, the area was overwhelmed by a group of 600 bandits. Vinson was taken hostage along with around 150 others. Offered freedom if he would write a letter to the commanding officer of government troops telling them to withdraw, Vinson declined “unless all the hostages are released”. The bandit chief refused and Vinson was shot and killed. His decapitated body was later found by Edward Currie, and he was buried in the small missionary cemetery in Haichow.

As his captors prepared to execute Vinson, waving a gun in his face they asked him, “Are you afraid?”. A girl who witnessed the event later testified that Vison replied, “No. If you shoot, I go straight to heaven.” This incident inspired E.H. Hamilton to write his poem.

Afraid? Of what?
To feel the spirit’s glad release?
To pass from pain to perfect peace,
The strife and strain of life to cease?
Afraid? Of that?

Afraid? Of what?
Afraid to see the Saviour’s face,
To hear His welcome, and to trace,
The glory gleam from wounds of grace,
Afraid? Of that?

Afraid? Of what?
A flash – a crash – a pierced heart;
Brief darkness – Light – O Heaven’s art!
A wound of His a counterpart!
Afraid? Of that?

Afraid? Of what?
To enter into Heaven’s rest,
And yet to serve the Master blessed?
From service good to service best?
Afraid? Of that?

Afraid? Of what?
To do by death what life could not –
Baptise with blood a stony plot,
Till souls shall blossom from that spot?
Afraid? Of that?

Poem by E.H. Hamilton

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By webtruth.org / Photo Great wall of China by Tom Fisk at pexels

I arise today

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I arise today

Through God’s strength to pilot me;

God’s might to uphold me,

God’s wisdom to guide me,

God’s eye to look before me,

God’s ear to hear me,

God’s word to speak for me,

God’s hand to guard me,

God’s way to lie before me,

God’s shield to protect me,

God’s hosts to save me

From snares of the devil,

From temptations of vices,

From every one who desires me ill,

Afar and a near,

Alone or in a multitude.

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~ unknown author / Picture by Hakan Tahmaz

Child of God Wait Patiently

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Child of God Wait Patiently

O child of God, wait patiently when dark thy path may be,

And let thy faith lean trustingly on Him who cares for Thee;

And though the clouds hang drearily upon the brow of night,

Yet in the morning joy will come, and fill thy soul with light.

O child of God, He loveth thee, and thou art all His own;

With gentle hand He leadeth thee, thou dost not walk alone;

And though thou watchest wearily the long and stormy night,

Yet in the morning joy will come, and fill thy soul with light.

O child of God, how peacefully He calms thy fears to rest,

And draws thee upward tenderly, where dwell the pure and blest;

And He who bendeth silently above the gloom of night,

Will take thee home where endless joy shall fill thy soul with light.

By Fanny Crosby

Unfolding The Rosebud

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It is only a tiny rosebud,
A flower of God’s design;
But I cannot unfold the petals
With these clumsy hands of mine.

The secret of unfolding flowers
Is not known to such as I.
GOD opens this flower so sweetly,
When in my hands they fade and die.

If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
This flower of God’s design,
Then how can I think I have wisdom
To unfold this life of mine?

So I’ll trust in Him for His leading
Each moment of every day.
I will look to Him for His guidance
Each step of the pilgrim way.

The pathway that lies before me,
Only my Heavenly Father knows.
I’ll trust Him to unfold the moments,
Just as He unfolds the rose.

By Helen Steiner Rice

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**Photo by Jovana Nesic

Take Time To Be Holy

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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

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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

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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)