Poetry
Please read the poems found listed on this page. It is our prayer that they will bless and encourage you.
Most importantly of all, it is intended that these poems will help you realise how much God loves you, how much He cares about you, how much He is reaching out to you now and how much He wants to be a part of your life.
If, while reading these poems, you decide that you would like to become a Christian, please click here.
Most importantly of all, it is intended that these poems will help you realise how much God loves you, how much He cares about you, how much He is reaching out to you now and how much He wants to be a part of your life.
If, while reading these poems, you decide that you would like to become a Christian, please click here.
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God's Embroidering 'Twas just a little wooden hoop Her caring hands would clasp. Some cloth, some thread, a needle's point, As treasures she would grasp. "What are you doing, Mother dear?" My straying voice would cry. "Embroidering," she answered clear, With mothering reply. "I must confess, 'tis quite a mess, Oh, erring mother mine. Why waste your day to idly play With balls of tangled twine? "Why, Mother, are the darkened strands So mingled with the bright? You hold some black threads in your hand; Why can't they all be light?" "My son," soothed Mother's smiling voice, "Your view is from below. When I am through I'll beckon you, And then, you too, can know. "You cannot see from 'neath my knee What I can see from here. So play awhile, my restless child, And I will lift you near. When Mom was done, she cooed, "My son, Come sit upon my knee. Come quickly, crawl upon my shawl, It's time for you to see." I soon found rest upon her breast, To see from Mama's side To my delight, a sunset bright, A view I'd been denied. "What wasn't known to you, mine own, Is that another's hand Had drawn for me to plainly see A predetermined plan. "The course I took, I ne'er forsook. A wiser one's design He'd placed a plan within my hand, That was not really mine. "Bright threads alone could not have shown The beauty of the rays; One must weave night with daytime light Or know a glary haze. "What was to thee, where thou could see, A messy underneath, Was from my eyes a sweet surprise, A lovely evening wreath." "What are You doing, Father dear?" My aching heart doth sigh. "Embroidered in my life I see Some dark threads drawing nigh. "'Tis messy too, from earthly view That I know here below. Don't weave my life with shadowed strife; Please send me only glow." I heard a loud, yet silent voice: "Look up to Me, My child, Just be about My business now; I'll show you after while. "You need the night as well as light To make you hold My hand. You need the dark as well as bright To do My perfect plan. "One day, twice born, I'll blow My horn. And make you be as I. I'll let you come to My own home, Where you will never die. "'Tis then you'll find, dear child of Mine, My plan was always best. Just trust, don't worry, doubt, or fret. Come unto Me and rest. "So trust Me now, though furrowed brow Seems oft thine earthly plight. I'll hasten near to wipe your tear That falleth through the night. "Just do My will and love me till My face is in your sight. Then you will se, 'twas best for thee-- Your Father's plan was right." (A poem by Jack Hyles) |
When Heaven Responds to Earth Can Adam's seed perform a deed To cause a stir in Heaven? Can God's console be e'er controlled By earthly mortal leaven? Oh, yes, 'tis true, that what we do Affecteth Heaven's portals; For angels sing and timbrels ring By actions done by mortals. An earthbound man can lift his hand And direct Heaven's chorus; And, in His plan, we Christians can Have angels working for us. God's blood-washed own can stir His throne To mighty acclamation; Then give decrees to silent trees To clap with adoration. The Christian's cries can organize A great angelic army; For seraphs speed to meet the need When saved ones find it stormy. When man doth sigh, he pulleth nigh The heart of his dear master; A whisper here can turn His ear And make His heart beat faster. A Christian may God's organ play With his own flesly fingers; And often can employ God's hand When 'fore His throne he lingers. And when he learns, His Father yearns To be his private tutor; While in God's care a falling hair Engageth His computer. Yet there's one thing that always brings The Sons of Korah's chorus; As Asaph's choir doth soon aspire To sing and hover o'er us. While angels sing, the loud harps ring With cherub adoration; Sweet notes are born from Gabriel's horn, And heard through all creation. While saints are shouting all about And seraph's voices raising, A song's prepared to be compared With Magdalenic praising. What is this ploy that bringeth joy? 'Tis when a dear soul winner Bears precious seed to those in need And bringeth back a sinner. When Christians go to men below And tell the old, old story; 'Tis their bright hope to pull the rope That rings the bells of glory. Then angels shout and dance about And Heaven rings with laughter, When one believes and hence receives His gift of life hereafter. (A poem by Jack Hyles) |
