It’s time again for Christmas Cheer,
But as we close two thousand one
I find upon my cheek a tear
Which surely weighs at least a ton.
For she who made of me a poet,
Dancing, singing, in my heart,
Though she’s with God, and I know it,
Physically we are apart!
Lonely nights like this are tough;
It seems that they will never end,
And even memories are rough,
Recalling lover, confidant, friend.
But - leaving me, she left a gift,
Framed in words so strong and kind;
Words that give a constant lift:
“Press on, Dear Oj, with strength and mind.”
So God, receive this Christmas Gift,
A gift You long have loaned to me,
This soul who always gave a lift,
Wherever need should chance to be.
You gave your Son; I give my wife,
Christmas gifts to heaven and earth,
Both leading to Eternal Life,
Through her death, and by His birth.
I’m sure the angels now rejoice
As Dorothy joins that heavenly throng,
And blends with theirs her alto voice,
Help Somebody” is her song.
May angels then sing loud and clear
That Jesus Christ, Our Lord, is born,
And grant me grace that I may hear
My Dorothy’s voice this Christmas morn.
Thursday, November 15, 2001
Wednesday, July 11, 2001
ACCORDING TO GOD’S PROMISE
Holy Spirit, speak to me; give me truth and set me free;
Open wide my eyes to see who you want me now to be.
Across the years I’ve walked the walk, but ne’er so well as I could talk;
Forgive those times when I have balked; Please change my talk to godly walk.
True trial is here; no crowds to cheer;
No congregation filled with fear as they see deadly sin appear,
Or speak in faith their glad “Amens” as you forgive their many sins,
Transforming them from “outs” to “ins” as once again your Spirit wins.
That fellowship of godly folk, to whom your spirit often spoke,
Could well my sullen soul provoke to bear with power that “holy yoke”
Which sumoned me to sacrifice, to bear the pain, to pay the price,
To show His love and good advise to ill informed as well as wise.
But passing now that four score years, I seldom hear those holy cheers
Resounding in my failing ears or see glad faces through dim tears.
Less and less I’m called to preach; moving in is my outreach;
Still, at times, I get to teach, though haltingly and slow of speech.
My Helpmate too is growing old; before her duties, not so bold,
As she still tries to keep the fold as well and warm as of old.
So shall we join Old Jeremiah and be known as woeful “Crier”
Or shall we look a great deal higher, and listen to that Holy Lyre?
The harp that makes melodious strum of glorious things yet to come,
Of “House not made with hands” for some, who grasped by faith one holy crumb
Of that SWEET BREAD, the bread of life, which gives us ear in any strife
To be God’s two, both man and wife, as we prepare for THAT NEW LIFE!.
A life where “Old Things pass away”; precisely what God has to say,
“Where all our night is turned to day” while “God’s candle lights the way”;
A life “where old things turn to new” while angels sing along with you.
“Many called, but chosen - few!” By faith there’s room for us - YOU TOO!
Open wide my eyes to see who you want me now to be.
Across the years I’ve walked the walk, but ne’er so well as I could talk;
Forgive those times when I have balked; Please change my talk to godly walk.
True trial is here; no crowds to cheer;
No congregation filled with fear as they see deadly sin appear,
Or speak in faith their glad “Amens” as you forgive their many sins,
Transforming them from “outs” to “ins” as once again your Spirit wins.
That fellowship of godly folk, to whom your spirit often spoke,
Could well my sullen soul provoke to bear with power that “holy yoke”
Which sumoned me to sacrifice, to bear the pain, to pay the price,
To show His love and good advise to ill informed as well as wise.
But passing now that four score years, I seldom hear those holy cheers
Resounding in my failing ears or see glad faces through dim tears.
Less and less I’m called to preach; moving in is my outreach;
Still, at times, I get to teach, though haltingly and slow of speech.
My Helpmate too is growing old; before her duties, not so bold,
As she still tries to keep the fold as well and warm as of old.
So shall we join Old Jeremiah and be known as woeful “Crier”
Or shall we look a great deal higher, and listen to that Holy Lyre?
The harp that makes melodious strum of glorious things yet to come,
Of “House not made with hands” for some, who grasped by faith one holy crumb
Of that SWEET BREAD, the bread of life, which gives us ear in any strife
To be God’s two, both man and wife, as we prepare for THAT NEW LIFE!.
A life where “Old Things pass away”; precisely what God has to say,
“Where all our night is turned to day” while “God’s candle lights the way”;
A life “where old things turn to new” while angels sing along with you.
“Many called, but chosen - few!” By faith there’s room for us - YOU TOO!
Sunday, July 01, 2001
A LEGAL NECKIN' PARTY!
July 1, 2001
Ain't had no outside neckin' party since wed to my sweet bride;
I'd frown on such a thing and am way too old beside;
But Doctor Shari grabbed hold my neck on Monday afternoon;
An' 'fore she's through I thought fer shore I was about to swoon!
She popped that thing a time or two when I was still face down,
And then she rolled me over and really went to town!
She grabbed a hold of my bald head and turned my neck to rubber,
Then cracked that worn-out atlas 'till I was 'bout to blubber!
Then stood me up and smilin' said, "You'll feel much better now!"
I reeled on out across the hall and wondered to myself, "Just how!"
But fact o' matter, I am much better, a mystery to me;
And I shore hope when I go back she's still got that recipe.
Ain't had no outside neckin' party since wed to my sweet bride;
I'd frown on such a thing and am way too old beside;
But Doctor Shari grabbed hold my neck on Monday afternoon;
An' 'fore she's through I thought fer shore I was about to swoon!
She popped that thing a time or two when I was still face down,
And then she rolled me over and really went to town!
She grabbed a hold of my bald head and turned my neck to rubber,
Then cracked that worn-out atlas 'till I was 'bout to blubber!
Then stood me up and smilin' said, "You'll feel much better now!"
I reeled on out across the hall and wondered to myself, "Just how!"
But fact o' matter, I am much better, a mystery to me;
And I shore hope when I go back she's still got that recipe.
Thursday, February 15, 2001
WE SHALL LIVE ALSO
February 15, 2001
Now if Christ is preached as raised from the dead,
How could man get the thought in his head
That God in his Goodness would not raise us too,
And be so loveless as not to raise you?
If Christ was not raised our preaching is vain,
Our faith is not faith, but faith that we feign;
And we have dared to misrepresent God
As we lead others on the false path we trod.
If Christ is not raised, believers have perished
In spite of belief which they truly cherished;
And those who have died have fallen asleep
In a promise of Christ which his Father can't keep.
But, in fact, Christ has been raised from the dead;
We can believe all the Apostle has said,
For the Spirit affirms that Christ is alive;
By this affirmation our faith we derive.
It is not by works, or by human merit,
But by that soft voice of God's Holy Spirit
That we are assured of that empty grave
Reserved for ourselves by Him who can save.
So believe, my friend; open wide your heart;
Entertain no thought that God will depart
From that promise He made through His only Son,
To raise us from death when this life is done.
Now if Christ is preached as raised from the dead,
How could man get the thought in his head
That God in his Goodness would not raise us too,
And be so loveless as not to raise you?
If Christ was not raised our preaching is vain,
Our faith is not faith, but faith that we feign;
And we have dared to misrepresent God
As we lead others on the false path we trod.
If Christ is not raised, believers have perished
In spite of belief which they truly cherished;
And those who have died have fallen asleep
In a promise of Christ which his Father can't keep.
But, in fact, Christ has been raised from the dead;
We can believe all the Apostle has said,
For the Spirit affirms that Christ is alive;
By this affirmation our faith we derive.
It is not by works, or by human merit,
But by that soft voice of God's Holy Spirit
That we are assured of that empty grave
Reserved for ourselves by Him who can save.
So believe, my friend; open wide your heart;
Entertain no thought that God will depart
From that promise He made through His only Son,
To raise us from death when this life is done.
Monday, December 25, 2000
BASED ON PHILIPPIANS 1:3-11
We thank our God in remembrance of you,
And we pray to Him you remember us too,
As together we make these expressions of joy
For the coming of Christ, God’s own precious Boy.
I’m thankful you join in the gospel of peace,
That Word of the Lord that grants us release
From the day of our hearing to this glorious now.
By faith in His coming, together we bow.
We’re sure that He who began our good works
Will protect us from places where sin often lurks,
And bring to completion the day of our Lord
The promise he makes in His wonderful Word.
It is right to feel this way about you,
As the Spirit of Christ comes now to renew
The commitment we feel down deep in our hearts
As he gives us grace to play our parts.
May God’s Great Gift at Christmas Time
Make bells of peace and joy combine
And celebrate our faith and joy
As we proclaim the Magnificat Boy.
And we pray to Him you remember us too,
As together we make these expressions of joy
For the coming of Christ, God’s own precious Boy.
I’m thankful you join in the gospel of peace,
That Word of the Lord that grants us release
From the day of our hearing to this glorious now.
By faith in His coming, together we bow.
We’re sure that He who began our good works
Will protect us from places where sin often lurks,
And bring to completion the day of our Lord
The promise he makes in His wonderful Word.
It is right to feel this way about you,
As the Spirit of Christ comes now to renew
The commitment we feel down deep in our hearts
As he gives us grace to play our parts.
May God’s Great Gift at Christmas Time
Make bells of peace and joy combine
And celebrate our faith and joy
As we proclaim the Magnificat Boy.
Friday, December 08, 2000
WELCOMING A NEW PRESIDENT
December 8, 2000
Yes, a simple mule
Is a very useless tool.
Even Mr. Elephant
Will really have to grunt
To keep our stocks and bonds
Out of sticky, stagnant ponds.
So move on, Mr. Gore;
You ain't the man no more!
C'mon, Mr. Bush;
Give Uncle Sam that push
To bring the things about
That democrats have talked about.
The talkin' time is gone;
It's time those things get worked upon.
We need a man as president
To fill the task for which he's sent:
TO LEAD BOTH PARTIES AS THOUGH ONE
UNTIL THEY GET YOUR PROMISE DONE!!
Yes, a simple mule
Is a very useless tool.
Even Mr. Elephant
Will really have to grunt
To keep our stocks and bonds
Out of sticky, stagnant ponds.
So move on, Mr. Gore;
You ain't the man no more!
C'mon, Mr. Bush;
Give Uncle Sam that push
To bring the things about
That democrats have talked about.
The talkin' time is gone;
It's time those things get worked upon.
We need a man as president
To fill the task for which he's sent:
TO LEAD BOTH PARTIES AS THOUGH ONE
UNTIL THEY GET YOUR PROMISE DONE!!
Sunday, January 23, 2000
FLY FOLLY
January 23, 2000
A fly, buzzing long on a window pane,
Giving all it's got without any gain,
Reminds me of we who do quite the same
As we struggle for power, wealth and fame.
It sees through the glass great promise out there,
With trees and flowers and fresh air to spare;
But its eyes are focused where it cannot go;
It’s heart says, “Go”, but the pane says, “No!”
There’s a wide open door at few feet behind,
A short detour, for a wide open mind;
But the fly buzzes on, using all its strength,
Counting no hours of its life’s short length.
It sees what it wants but cannot attain,
Just because of a fly-tracked pane.
Look around, little fly; there’s a much better way
Than a glass impasse in your life’s short day.
If the way seems closed twixt you and your goal,
Examine that way ‘til you find the right hole.
Don’t wear out your wings on a glass impasse
Because you are focused on flowers and grass!
Roadblocked paths are not short ways;
They use up our time; they steal our days;
So learn from the fly, and look for a door
Before you, like this fly, lie dead on the floor.
A fly, buzzing long on a window pane,
Giving all it's got without any gain,
Reminds me of we who do quite the same
As we struggle for power, wealth and fame.
It sees through the glass great promise out there,
With trees and flowers and fresh air to spare;
But its eyes are focused where it cannot go;
It’s heart says, “Go”, but the pane says, “No!”
There’s a wide open door at few feet behind,
A short detour, for a wide open mind;
But the fly buzzes on, using all its strength,
Counting no hours of its life’s short length.
It sees what it wants but cannot attain,
Just because of a fly-tracked pane.
Look around, little fly; there’s a much better way
Than a glass impasse in your life’s short day.
If the way seems closed twixt you and your goal,
Examine that way ‘til you find the right hole.
Don’t wear out your wings on a glass impasse
Because you are focused on flowers and grass!
Roadblocked paths are not short ways;
They use up our time; they steal our days;
So learn from the fly, and look for a door
Before you, like this fly, lie dead on the floor.
Friday, November 26, 1999
AUTUMN LEAVES
Thanksgiving 1999
Autumn leaves, turned red and brown,
One more year, are falling down.
Crops combined and ground fresh plowed
Hail Thanksgiving clear and loud.
November weather brings on winter,
Our hearts will soon the Advent enter,
And prophecies of Christ we’ll hear
Again on this Two Thousandth year.
Years through which faith was tested,
And for some, that faith arrested;
But for all who held steadfast,
Christ is real; that faith will last.
His mission works in all the world;
Where Christian flags are now unfurled;
Selfish greed is overthrown
As new converts become His own.
And yet, the task is never—ending;
Our children still we keep on sending,
To lighten loads and burdens bear,
‘Til Christ is Master everywhere.
Autumn leaves, turned red and brown,
One more year, are falling down.
Crops combined and ground fresh plowed
Hail Thanksgiving clear and loud.
November weather brings on winter,
Our hearts will soon the Advent enter,
And prophecies of Christ we’ll hear
Again on this Two Thousandth year.
Years through which faith was tested,
And for some, that faith arrested;
But for all who held steadfast,
Christ is real; that faith will last.
His mission works in all the world;
Where Christian flags are now unfurled;
Selfish greed is overthrown
As new converts become His own.
And yet, the task is never—ending;
Our children still we keep on sending,
To lighten loads and burdens bear,
‘Til Christ is Master everywhere.
Friday, November 19, 1999
MUD-HEN MENTALITY
November 19, 1999
I rode today along a dam that stopped the water for a pond,
And there a thought about all sham made me feel I should respond.
An old mud hen, with watchful glance, flexed her wings as if to fly;
She missed no step of my advance; not even one to blink her eye.
No doubt she’d often seen my horse, but not with me up on top;
The horse was just a horse of course, but me up top caused her to stop;
To take a quick survey, to look alive and wide awake;
“To stay or not to stay?” The choice was hers to make.
I felt she’d fly, and Skipper too: his ears pricked up, his eyes alert,
We stopped to watch that bird; I eased off and loosed the girt.
No flap of wings, no fast retreat, but diving down into the deep,
She disappeared, fast and neat, to safety that she thought she’d keep.
How human did that bird appear, as she ducked down clear out of sight,
But ducking does not quiet our fear, but rather cancels all our light;
The light that always lets us see, through faith, an ever open door,
That life provides for you and me to love and live forevermore.
But Skip and I outlasted her; submerged that long, all have to rise;
So now, or then, as we prefer, we all return to watchful eyes.
No doubt her fear made her dive into waters cold and dark,
But every bird, to stay alive, has, in the “light”, to re-embark.
It must have been a great surprise, when she came up to face the “light”
And flicked the dampness from her eyes and saw need to flee or fight.
We had no plan to hurt that bird; she dived so deep because of fear;
“Our foe is fear,” we have heard; and when fear fades, we’re all still here.
I rode today along a dam that stopped the water for a pond,
And there a thought about all sham made me feel I should respond.
An old mud hen, with watchful glance, flexed her wings as if to fly;
She missed no step of my advance; not even one to blink her eye.
No doubt she’d often seen my horse, but not with me up on top;
The horse was just a horse of course, but me up top caused her to stop;
To take a quick survey, to look alive and wide awake;
“To stay or not to stay?” The choice was hers to make.
I felt she’d fly, and Skipper too: his ears pricked up, his eyes alert,
We stopped to watch that bird; I eased off and loosed the girt.
No flap of wings, no fast retreat, but diving down into the deep,
She disappeared, fast and neat, to safety that she thought she’d keep.
How human did that bird appear, as she ducked down clear out of sight,
But ducking does not quiet our fear, but rather cancels all our light;
The light that always lets us see, through faith, an ever open door,
That life provides for you and me to love and live forevermore.
But Skip and I outlasted her; submerged that long, all have to rise;
So now, or then, as we prefer, we all return to watchful eyes.
No doubt her fear made her dive into waters cold and dark,
But every bird, to stay alive, has, in the “light”, to re-embark.
It must have been a great surprise, when she came up to face the “light”
And flicked the dampness from her eyes and saw need to flee or fight.
We had no plan to hurt that bird; she dived so deep because of fear;
“Our foe is fear,” we have heard; and when fear fades, we’re all still here.
Tuesday, November 16, 1999
WHAT WE WANT FOR CHRISTMAS
November 16, 1999
How often we have prayed for this I really cannot say,
But seeing what we mostly miss should choose our gift for Christmas Day;
Not a shiny brand new car, nor trinkets fair to line our shelves,
But just to know who we are, that we might now reclaim ourselves.
“Burnout” blasts our fondest dreams: thwarts achievement of our goals;
Loosens us at all our seams; takes apart our very souls;
This illness comes, I am told, by those who really ought to know,
To the brave, to the bold, who give their best as they go.
We term this busy sort of life our measure of success:
Few times to love our wife; and those times marred by weariness;
No time to watch a sunset; to take a family walk;
To talk about the problems met; to have a family talk.
Moderation is our need; God saw that His first great week;
His creation, we now read, brought God at last His rest to seek;
So, Santa, when you pack your sleigh, please pack for all this one great gift:
A calmer, gentler, moderate way to move the burdens we must lift.
How often we have prayed for this I really cannot say,
But seeing what we mostly miss should choose our gift for Christmas Day;
Not a shiny brand new car, nor trinkets fair to line our shelves,
But just to know who we are, that we might now reclaim ourselves.
“Burnout” blasts our fondest dreams: thwarts achievement of our goals;
Loosens us at all our seams; takes apart our very souls;
This illness comes, I am told, by those who really ought to know,
To the brave, to the bold, who give their best as they go.
We term this busy sort of life our measure of success:
Few times to love our wife; and those times marred by weariness;
No time to watch a sunset; to take a family walk;
To talk about the problems met; to have a family talk.
Moderation is our need; God saw that His first great week;
His creation, we now read, brought God at last His rest to seek;
So, Santa, when you pack your sleigh, please pack for all this one great gift:
A calmer, gentler, moderate way to move the burdens we must lift.
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