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Archive for the ‘Poem’ Category

Flame Of God (Poem © by Amy Carmichael)

 

From prayer that asks that I may be

Sheltered from winds that beat on Thee,

From fearing when I should aspire,

From faltering when I should climb higher

From silken self, O Captain, free

Thy soldier who would follow Thee.

 

 

From subtle love of softening things,

From easy choices, weakening,

(Not thus are spirits fortified,

Not this way went the Crucified)

From all that dims Thy Calvary

O Lamb of God, deliver me.

 

 

Give me the love that leads the way,

The faith that nothing can dismay

The hope no disappointments tire,

The passion that will burn like fire;

Let me not sink to be a clod;

Make me Thy fuel, Flame of Go

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My Prayer © By Amy Carmichael

 

And shall I pray Thee change Thy will my Father,

Until it be according unto mine?

But no, Lord, no, that shall never be, rather

I pray Thee blend my human will with Thine.

 

 

I pray Thee hush the hurrying eager longing

I pray Thee soothe the pangs of keen desire.

See in my quiet places wishes thronging,

Forbid them, Lord, purge, though it be with fire.

 

 

And work in me to will and do Thy pleasure.

Let all within me, peaceful, reconciled,

Tarry content my Well beloved’s leisure,

At last, at last, even as a weaned child.

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One of Bonhoeffer’s last poem,  “Who Am I?”  deserves another hearing:

 

Who am I? They often tell me

I would step from my cell’s confinement

Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,

Like a squire from his country-house.

 

Who am I? They often tell me

I would talk to my warders

freely and friendly and clearly,

as though it were mine to command.

 

Who am I? They also tell me

I would bear the days of misfortune

Equably, smilingly, proudly,

Like one accustomed to win.

 

Am I then really all that which men tell of?

Or am I only what I know of myself,

Restless and longing and sick like a bird in a cage,

Struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat,

 

Yearning for colours, for flowers, for the voices of birds,

Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,

Trembling with anger at despotisms and petty humiliation,

Tossing in expectation of great events,

Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,

Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making

Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?

 

Who am I? This or the other?

Am I one person today, and tomorrow another?

Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,

And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?

Or is something within me still like a beaten army,

Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?

 

Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.

Whoever I am, thou knowest, O God, I am thine.

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The Treasure of Time 

from Adoration – Mary of Bethany – The untold story 

by Martha Kilpatrick

 

Time is the treasure of life. Time IS life. 

Time is the willing sacrifice that you offer up to 

the worship of what you love. 

Don’t tell me what you love. Tell me where you spend your 

TIME and I’ll tell YOU what you love.

 

The dispensing of time, the investment of time 

is the exposure of what you truly love. 

You give your time to your cherished treasure. You do.

 

Frenzy says that there is no time left for God. 

Hurry cannot live the life of Mary.

 

Haste insults HIM. It says there are 

other important, more urgent activities than being with 

the Lord of the Universe.

 

It takes giving the costly gift of time to find Him, 

to hear His heart, 

to gain the wisdom of where to spend your 

riches of time.

 

Many give their lives to Him, 

who do not give their time.

 

To the frantic, Mary’s life was a waste. 

The waste of time and energy on Jesus.

 

To the busy, time is always critically short. 

There is not enough time for the ambitious…and the worried. 

Their many works are more than their shoulders can 

carry, more than their hours can cover.

 

They are like Martha, always behind and 

even in self pity because of it.

 

Their efforts are their own. 

Jesus did not call for them 

and cannot be blamed when the efforts 

do not succeed or give fulfillment.

 

Time is the shining jewel Satan steals. 

We do not understand its value as much as he does. 

If he can get your time, he has… you… without God. 

Your time is your life. 

So by noble demands and foolish distractions, 

he ekes away the minutes of your eternity.

 

There is all out war for your time, 

a relentless and clever scheme to fill 

your days with what is not God – 

what is not for Him or even about Him.

 

Martha was the unwitting instrument of that fiendish enemy 

to call foolish and irresponsible in Mary what was really… 

God’s highest and best.

 

Thus it always will be. 

There is a fight to be a Mary. 

And it takes a strong-hearted resistance 

to defend the preciousness of your own time.

 

To lose your time is to lose your destiny. 

To squander time is to waste your only wealth.

 

There is abundant time for your assignment… 

for God’s authentic will.

 

Plenty of time to listen and ample time to accomplish. 

God set the earth on the axis of Time 

and when He rules it, 

it is – like all His gifts – an extravagant supply.

 

God requires in this day, the offering of time. 

Give time to God and you become rich in Him. 

For to give time is to give your self 

and He gives HIMSELF in return.

 

God is ever real about time and humanity’s limited span. 

So whatever is given to Him is multiplied by the mystery of 

His transcendence over Time and Space. 

Time given to Him is returned enlarged, expanded by a 

multiplication that cannot be comprehended.

 

Mary lavished time on Him… 

because she deemed Him worth it. 

Martha had no time for Him, only a period to work 

for Him, a labor He 

rejected as a real… waste of time.

 

To Martha, Jesus was not worthy of her focused attention, 

and this He painfully knew by watching how 

she spent her… time.

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Wait

by Russell Kelfer

 

 

Desperately, helplessly, longingly, I cried; 

Quietly, patiently, lovingly, God replied. 

I pled and I wept for a clue to my fate . . . 

And the Master so gently said, “Wait.” 

 

“Wait? you say wait?” my indignant reply. 

“Lord, I need answers, I need to know why! 

Is your hand shortened? Or have you not heard? 

By faith I have asked, and I’m claiming your Word. 

 

“My future and all to which I relate 

Hangs in the balance, and you tell me to wait? 

I’m needing a ‘yes’, a go-ahead sign, 

Or even a ‘no’ to which I can resign. 

 

“You promised, dear Lord, that if we believe, 

We need but to ask, and we shall receive. 

And Lord I’ve been asking, and this is my cry: 

I’m weary of asking! I need a reply.” 

 

Then quietly, softly, I learned of my fate, 

As my Master replied again, “Wait.” 

So I slumped in my chair, defeated and taut, 

And grumbled to God, “So, I’m waiting for what?” 

 

He seemed then to kneel, and His eyes met with mine . . . 

and He tenderly said, “I could give you a sign. 

I could shake the heavens and darken the sun. 

I could raise the dead and cause mountains to run. 

 

“I could give all you seek and pleased you would be. 

You’d have what you want, but you wouldn’t know Me. 

You’d not know the depth of my love for each saint. 

You’d not know the power that I give to the faint. 

 

“You’d not learn to see through clouds of despair; 

You’d not learn to trust just by knowing I’m there. 

You’d not know the joy of resting in Me 

When darkness and silence are all you can see. 

 

“You’d never experience the fullness of love 

When the peace of My spirit descends like a dove. 

You would know that I give, and I save, for a start, 

But you’d not know the depth of the beat of My heart. 

 

“The glow of my comfort late into the night, 

The faith that I give when you walk without sight. 

The depth that’s beyond getting just what you ask 

From an infinite God who makes what you have last. 

 

“You’d never know, should your pain quickly flee, 

What it means that My grace is sufficient for thee. 

Yes, your dearest dreams overnight would come true, 

But, oh, the loss, if you missed what I’m doing in you. 

 

“So, be silent, my child, and in time you will see 

That the greatest of gifts is to truly know me. 

And though oft My answers seem terribly late, 

My most precious answer of all is still . . . Wait.”


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Another year is dawning, dear Father, let it be
In working or in waiting, another year with Thee.
Another year of progress, another year of praise,
Another year of proving Thy presence all the days.

Another year of mercies, of faithfulness and grace,
Another year of gladness in the shining of Thy face;
Another year of leaning upon Thy loving breast;
Another year of trusting, of quiet, happy rest.

Another year of service, of witness for Thy love,
Another year of training for holier work above.
Another year is dawning, dear Father, let it be
On earth, or else in Heaven, another year for Thee.

— Frances Havergal (1874)

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In Acceptance Lieth Peace

Hannah Hurnard


In acceptance lieth peace,
O my heart be still;
Let thy restless worries cease
And accept His will.
Though this test be not thy choice,
It is His—therefore rejoice.

In His plan there cannot be
Aught to make thee sad:
If this is His choice for thee,
Take it and be glad.
Make from it some lovely thing
To the glory of thy King.

Cease from sighs and murmuring,
Sing His loving grace,
This thing means thy furthering
To a wealthy place.
From thy fears He’ll give release,
In acceptance lieth peace.

 

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