Who are you Jesus?
Did you really die for me?
Did the nails tear your hands
As you hung upon the tree?
And when your blood flowed freely
Did the pain take away your breath?
As you yielded up your Spirit
When you bowed your head in death?
But now the chains are broken
As from the tomb you rise,
Walking not among the dead, but taken
To the Father, in clouds of the skies!
May I lie in death beside you,
Buried deep within your grave,
To rise in newness of your glory?
For this, your life you gave.
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What I Wanted
I wanted places to go.
He laid the world at my feet.
"Go ye into all the world."
I wanted things to do.
He laid a door at my feet.
"Do good unto all men, especially those of the household of God."
I wanted things to learn.
He laid His Word at my feet.
"Take my yoke; learn of me; for it is easy and my burden is light."
I wanted a home.
He laid Heaven at my feet.
"In my Father's house are many mansions; I go to prepare a place for you.”
I wanted to serve Him.
He laid a towel at my feet.
"Be a servant; if you love me, you will keep my commandments."
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I Must Walk
My feet must walk in the shadow of the cross,
And not in dancing to the pleasures of the world.
My praises must be given to my God,
And not to the demons of this world.
My songs must be sung to the Sovereign Lord,
And not to the beat of the drum of this world.
My hands must be given in service to the Father,
And not for earning merit badges from this world.
My treasures must be hidden in my Father’s house,
And not left to glitter, tempt, entice, or rust in this world.
My joy, my hope, and my love belongs to the Son
Who died that I might possess it all.
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Laying Up Treasures
How do you count your pennies?
What worth a word?
A penny for your thought?
Maybe a diamond in the rough,
Or a pearl that you bought?
Every "dot and title" chained,
And brought before the throne,
Can never a treasure be
From the greatest treasure owned.
What worth God’s Word?
A treasure of our thought;
A pearl of great price,
Over every treasure sought:
A precious soul unchained
And laid before His throne
Where treasures do not rust,
Is by far the greatest treasure owned.
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Whisper Of Love
When God made man
From the clay,
His Spirit He gave.
Softly touching man with His breath;
A whisper of love.
But, then, man turned away.
Could God reach him now?
Calling, for man to return;
A call for man’s love.
And on the day
Christ was born,
The Angels’ song filled the sky.
"Praise Him; alleluia!"
A song for God’s love.
Christ died upon the cross;
His pain was so great.
"Father, Thy Will is now done."
Christ’s whisper of love!
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Autumn Song
Indian summer now upon us leans
In Autumn colors cast.
Hearts bend toward winter scenes,
Knowing this will not last.
Feet rustle through browns and reds
Of summer's faded dreams,
That give winter her latent beds
For all her lifeless schemes
When gala tributes are senile, subdued
In manner picturesque yet trite,
And rest still, their splendor hued
With shimmering, placid white.
The downy breezes are dancing near.
The lifeless leaves are sensated,
Trying to wring one last tear
E'er once more placated;
Playing with effort undaunted
To leave her there pensile,
Making her last hour taunted,
Knowing she has become senile;
And scatters all her cherished ones,
With worry to frenzied haste,
To gather all their miserly tons,
And to scrimp with guarded waste.
Soon with heavy blanket lain
And shoved into her latent bed,
Weary courser, all but slain,
Will lifeless lay instead.
And Autumn will succumb again,
From her haughty state,
To crown the victor, proud and vain,
Arising from a tete-a-tete;
Announcing valid winter's icy forum
To all whose ears will hear,
Calmly displaying decorum
To all whose hopes endear.
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America's Wool Gathering
She sat and dreamed of days gone by
When no problems beset the hearts of man.
The crops filled miles and grew so high,
A delight as far as the eye could scan.
But this was a new land at that time,
And a man that filled the virgin land with hope
Filled the air as he worked with song and rhyme,
Conquering all with only gun, plough, and rope.
Guns; yes, guns. Now hatred flares high
Against mankind that kills and snarls.
Brother against brother for a bale of rye;
Aggressive toward all because of their quarrels.
"Baa, baa, black sheep"
Times ago were neither soft nor lazy,
But hard work satisfied man's flesh and soul.
Winters bitter cold and summers hot and hazy,
Yet love sprang from the well of a goal.
But the country then was relatively young,
And visions were dawn's cherished rays of hope.
Hearts were filled with laughter and songs were sung,
And they conquered with gun, plough, and rope.
Ploughs; yes, ploughs. Now lying quietly aside
Against mankind that has opened a deep hunger,
Not just a struggle for food, but also for pride,
And remembered days when they were younger.
"Have you any wool?"
But how were there still cries even then
That from human flesh rang loud and clear?
Was this some hidden, blackened sin
That caused Fear and Hate their heads to rear?
But there was virtue then, blooming young and pure,
That gave mankind a voracious healthy hope
And grew strong men for a country strong and sure
To conquer all with gun, plough, and rope.
Rope; yes, rope. That scarred many a neck and heart
Against humanity that mankind has blatantly bled
All their lives, and as cancer and the wart,
Grows within 'till all the mechanism is dead.
"Yes, sir! Yes, sir!"
Life was slow in coming, quick to die
And struggle with flesh to gain spiritual peace
Left mankind wrapped in a gray and silent cry,
Drawing problems forth with rapid increase.
&nbs
p; And now the ravaged land grows old and gray.
Hope grows dim as strength falls low.
Men that once were strong became a prey
For all that seek their own glory, sure and slow.
Guns, ploughs, ropes; yes, all are here still,
Wrapped in bags of discontent, despair, and hate,
Awaiting a day of use subjective to man's will,
Stamping the end of man's ill-begotten fate.
"Three bags full."
So if discontent brazenly blankets all the land
And mankind seeks beyond that which he has won,
Yet finds himself standing with empty hand,
The battle seems sour to him after it is done.
ow she is grasping butterflies with persistence
From the air of time without thought of consequence
Neither learning from the cocoon of existence
Nor desire of struggle above quiescence.
Look now! From end to end what gain has been
Gotten within the scope of the time you see?
Who has had the greatest hope we have seen?
Yet how neglected could it ever be?
"One for the Master"
So far as the eye envisions land everywhere
How desolate lies her mother, Earth, now
Where once the fragrance of life hung softly there.
It filled the heart with joy, yet she failed her vow,
For crowds wander aimlessly around each other
Watching closely against any foreign thought or word
Afraid to loose the apron string or venture further
Than from the presence of those already heard See now!
Are visions and dreams only for the great?
To take and mold their world as they deem fit?
Are the lowly worthy only the tortuous wait
As the humble beggar left at the gate to sit?
"One for the Dame"
Now there comes a sound that breaks her dreams
And reason begins to shape her aimless thought
For fulfillment of a plan for her to bream
The corroded hull of the vow which she wrought.
So her eyes fall upon her oldest son;
The one she gave Humanity for a name.
For it is in his victory her war is to be won.
And in his death, if it be, she will lose her fame.
Listen now! For all is repeated more than twice.
The guns, ploughs, and ropes are just a toy
For maturity, an uncomely learning device
For Humanity, who is yet a wee little boy.
"And one for the little boy"
So now she must stop all her vain dreaming;
To be sober and search every thought and all parts;
To yield a response to all threats and screaming;
And to understand love for burdened hearts.
For now is a time to search and to shield;
A time to rise up and bear armor for a cause,
And to wisdom and love, mankind must yield
To stand for righteousness without a pause.
Hear now! How cries her lonely little boy
Who stands forlorn and without hope in the lane,
Begging for the hope of redeeming lost joy
Without despair through human and spiritual love again.
“Who cries in the lane."
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Thanksgiving Prayer
While we walk in the wilderness
And meet with trials sore,
We feel the blessings of Thy tenderness
In Thy love bestowed before.
In all our trials we seek Thy face,
For the Peace we cannot understand;
Yet in faith we are constrained to place
Life and Soul into Thy Hand.
On this common Day of Thanks, we give
To Thee, our songs we raise,
That for every moment that we live
It is Thy name we praise.
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Beattitudes
When man's spirit knows poverty,
and for righteousness, hungers and thirsts,
he shall be filled with the Bread
found in the kingdom of God.
When man's spirit shows mercy,
and for righteousness, mourns for the lost,
with God's mercy, shall he be blessed
and find peace in God's word.
When man's spirit knows humility,
and for righteousness, cleanses the heart,
he shall then bring to the world
knowledge of God's perfect will.
His is a soul that shall enter in,
into the work of Almighty God,
and will show the way of peace
between man and his God.
Though for the sake of righteousness
he is hated and reviled by men,
he shall be called a son of God;
his is the joy of Heaven.
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Wandering Lambs
Jesus had some little lambs.
He washed their fleece white as snow.
But everywhere that Jesus went,
Some lambs refused to go.
They danced and played,
And scattered unaware.
Lost and lonely,
They wandered here and there.
But Jesus left the 90 and 9
And searched high and low,
To find those little lambs
Who would follow where He would go.
Carried upon His shoulder
The ones brought back home.
But Jesus wept for stubborn ones
Which decided still to roam.
So Jesus sought abroad
Through a few special men
Seeking out those little lambs
And their precious souls to win.
And God's Angels do rejoice
Every time that one is found
And brought back into the fold;
Happy, safe and sound.
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Time Swiftly Passes
These two verses were written as thought and answer.
by Tom Wacaster, Jr.
The year drags on, the Summer flies.
The darker Winter steals the skies.
Has swiftly passed and now is gone.
But hope holds fast within my breast.
Nature, it seems, must pause to rest.
And even as I sleep to feel refreshed,
So Spring soon wakes with its warm breath.
by Mary E.Wacaster.
Seasons and Seasons soon pass us by
Until Life's winter has drawn nigh,
Life's hoary frost covers our head
And we draw the cover upon Life's bed.
For the life we have so long known,
Has swiftly passed and will soon be gone.
But the hope that lay within the breast,
Left behind, springs eternal in our rest.
So Nature, refreshing in her love, esteems
All of our seasons, and all of our dreams.
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Passing Times
What used to be and was,
Is no more, because
Time does not stand still.
Summer's sun goes on and on.
Flowers bloom 'ere winter's gone,
And fills the space upon the hill.
Fall is plagued by winter's breath
To make its beauty lie in death,
While Spring still counts its gain.
Birds fly North, then fly South.
Grasses wither from the drought,
While leaves upon the trees remain.
What was and used to be
Remains a mystery unto me.
Yet in God's hand it stays.
Birds know where and when to go;
Seeds know how and when to grow.
In all the passing days
Nature declares God's Glory and Praise.
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Our Thankfullness
With one accord we give thanks,
When we gather the harvest
For the year's end of planting,
Looking toward the winter's rest.
May God grant us fullness,
That we may be blessed
As we give unto Him our praises
When we offer Him our best.
And if we truly love Him,
Then His commands we will keep;
For if we share with one another,
It is His blessings that we reap.
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Running The Race
We start out to run the race,
Head held high as we set the pace.
Hopes of winning
Without sinning
A glow of peace upon the face.
Mile upon mile we run,
Pressing forward to be done.
One foot out; and then another,
Side beside a dear brother;
A glorious crown to be won.
Water passed along the way
From friends that shout and say
Hold on; run straight;
Maintain your gait;
Victory will be yours someday.
Soon the wind stings the face.
Blinding trail without trace.
Footsteps falter;
Our gait we alter;
We seek sufficiency of Grace.
Running firm, the strength we find
Makes the miles; weakens the grind.
Looking up
We see the cup,
Of honor within our mind.
Soon the breezes mildly blow,
And freshens sweet as on we go.
We see His face;
We've won the race:
Then His rest God will bestow!
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Children Lost And Found
Whence hath flown the happy hours
which filled our dreams at close of day?
Lonely are the empty bowers;
gone the children's laughter and their play.
Oh, that would the little things
of life's greatest joy be yet more;
The happiness a memory brings
That our hearts knew before.
Loosen not the enduring faith
that binds us as a child, as one;
Not as a wandering wraith