Poem by Horatius Bonar — For A Night

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.   Psalm 30:5

‘Tis first the true, and then the beautiful

Not first the beautiful and then the true.

First the wild moor, with rock and fen and pool

Then the gay garden rich in scent and hue .

Not first the glad and then the sorrowful

But first the sorrowful and then the glad,

Tears for a day, for earth of tears is full,

Then we forget that we were ever sad.

Not first the bright and after that the dark,

But first the dark and after that the bright;

First the thick cloud, and then the rainbow’s arc,

First the dark grave, then resurrection light.

‘Tis first the night, stern night of storm and war

Long night of heavy clouds and veiled skies,

Then the far sparkle of the Morning Star

That bids the saints awake and dawn arise."

Poem by WIlliam Sharp — Perfect Peace

And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.   Philippians 4:7

It lives not on the sunlit hill

Nor on the sunlit plain;

Nor even on any running stream

Nor on the unclouded main ----

But sometimes through the soul of man

Slow moving o’er his pain,

The moonlight of a perfect peace

Floods heart and brain

Poem by John Bunyan — To Be A Pilgrim

They were strangers and pilgrims on the earth.   Hebrews 11:13

 He who would valiant be

Gainst all disaster,

Let him in constancy

Follow the Master.

There’s no discouragement

Shall make him once relent

His first avowed intent

To be a pilgrim.

Who so beset him round

With dismal stories,

To but themselves confound ----

His strength the more in

No lion can him fright;

He’ll with a giant fight

But he will have the right

To be a pilgrim.

Since, Lord, Thou dost defend

Us with Thy Spirit,

We know we at the end

Shall life inherit.

Then, fancies, flee away!

I’ll fear not, what men may say,

I’ll labor night and day

To be a pilgrim.

Prayer by Phillips Brooks

O Lord, by all thy dealings with us, whether of joy or pain,of light or darkness, let us be brought to Thee. Let us value no treatment of Thy grace simply because it makes us happy or because it makes us sad, because it gives us or denies us what we want; but may all that Thou sendest us bring us to Thee, that knowing Thy perfectness we may be sure in every disappointment that thou art still loving us, and in every darkness that thou art still enlightening us, and in every enforced idleness that Thou are still using us;yea, in every death Thou art giving us life; as in His death thou didst give life to Thy Son our Saviour, Jesus Christ

Quote by Peter Marshall

Peter Marshall former chaplain of the U.S. Senate prayed at one time as he began his daily official duty:

"Lord Jesus, thou who art the way, the truth, and the life; hear us as we pray for the truth that shall make us free. Teach us that liberty is not only to be loved but also to be lived. Liberty is too precious a thing to be buried in books. It costs too much to be hoarded. Help us to see that our liberty is not the right to do as we please, but the opportunity to please to do what is right."

Poem by George Matheson — Make Me A Captive

Make me a captive, Lord,

And then I shall be free;

Force me to render up my sword,

And I shall conqueror be,

I sink in life’s alarms

When in myself I stand;

Imprison me within Thine arms,

And strong shall be my hand.

My heart is weak and poor

Until it master find;

It has no spring of action sure----

It varies with the wind.

It cannot freely move

Till Thou hast wrought its chain;

Enslave it with Thy matchless love,

And deathless it shall reign.

My power is faint and low

Till I have learned to serve;

It wants the needed fire to glow,

It wants the breeze to nerve;

It cannot drive the world

Until itself be driven;

Its flag can only be unfurled

When Thou shalt breathe from heaven.

My will is not my own

Till Thou has made it Thine;

If it would reach a monarch’s throne

It must its crown resign;

It only stands unbent

Amid the clashing strife,

When on Thy bosom it has leant

And found in Thee its life.

                                                

Poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — I Heard Him Call

I heard Him call ----

“Come, follow,” that was all.

My gold grew dim

My soul went after Him

I rose and followed, that was all.

Who would not follow

If they heard Him call?

Him evermore I behold

Walking in Galilee ,

Through the corn-fields’ waving gold,

In hamlet, or grassy world.

By the shores of the Beautiful Sea ,

He touched the sightless eyes

Before Him the demons flee;

To the dead He sayeth, Arise!

To the living, Follow Me!

And that Voice still soundeth on

From the centuries that are gone

To the centuries that shall be.

Anecdote by Peter Marshall — America Confesses

Our father, bring us to the remembrance of Thy people. Tine ancient and time-honored promise: “If my people which are called by my name, shall humble themselves and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from Heaven, and forgive their sin, and will heal their land.”

We ----This company of Thy people assembled -----would begin now to meet the conditions that will enable Thee to fulfill Thy promise.

May all of America come to understand that right-living alone exalteth a nation, that only in Thy will can power and joy be found. But Lord, this land cannot be righteous unless her people are righteous, and we, here gathered, are part of America . We know that the world cannot be changed until the hearts of men are hanged. Our hearts need to be changed.

We therefore confess to Thee that:

Wrong ideas and sinful living have put us off from Thee

We have been greedy.

We have sought to hide behind barricades of selfishness; shackles have imprisoned the great heart of America .

We have tried to isolate ourselves from the bleeding wounds of a blundering world of our self-sufficiency we have not sought Thy help.

We have held conferences and ignored Thee completely

Peter Marshall was a Scots-American preacher twice appointed as Chaplain of the United States Senate.

Poem by Avis B. Christiansen — A Boy’s Tribute to His Dad

Somehow a fellow can’t express

The feelings he has had,

While through the years he’s walked and talked

And laughed and played with Dad.

He cannot put in words the love ---

The pride that wells within,

The admiration in his heart ---

Whene’er Dad looks at him.

Dad is the hero of his dreams,

The king upon the throne,

The pattern for that ideal life

Which he would make his own.

He knows that Dad well understands

The conflicts in his breast,

And shares the problems He must face,

Though often unexpressed.

The pressure of his dad’s strong hand,

The look deep in his eyes,

Speaks volumes to a fellow’s heart,

When cares of life arise.

And when he kneels with Dad in prayer

Before the throne of grace,

The glory of the unseen world

Illumines all the place.

How could a fellow go astray,

Who with his dad had stood

Within the secret place of prayer

Before a holy God!

And this my constant prayer shall be,’       

That until life is done.

My conduct here shall honor him

Who proudly calls me “Son.”

Anecdote by Unknown — Eric Lidell: "Training and Honor"

For months Eric Liddell trained with his heart set on winning the 100-meter race at the Olympics of 1924. Many sportswriters predicted he would win. At the games, however, Liddell learned that the 100-meter race was scheduled to be run on a Sunday. This posed a major problem for him, because Liddell did not believe he could honor God by running on the Lord’s Day.

He bowed out of the race and his fans were stunned. Some who had praised him in the past now called him a fool, He came under intense pressure to change his mind, but Liddell stood firm.

Then a runner dropped out of the 400-meter race, which was scheduled on a week day, and Liddell offered to fill the slot. This was not really “his race” ---- the distance was four times as long as the race for which he had trained diligently. Even so, Liddell crossed the tape as victor and set a record of 47.6 seconds in the process. He had earned an Olympic gold medal, and made an uncompromising stand for his faith.

Liddell went on to become a missionary in China , where he died in a war camp in 1945. He lives in history as a man known more for his inner mettle that for his gold medal.

Anecdote by Unknown — Rosalie Elliot

The moment was a tense one. Rosalie Elliott had made it to the fourth round of a national spelling contest in Washington . The 11-year old from South Carolina had been asked to spell the word avowal. In her soft southern accent she spelled the word, but the judges were not able to determine if she had used an a or an e as the next to the last letter .They debated among themselves for several minutes as they listened to tape recording playbacks. The crucial letter, however, was too accent-blurred to decipher. Finally, the chief judge put the question to the only person who knew the answer.

"Was the letter an  a or was it an e” he asked Rosalie. By this time, being surrounded by whispering young spellers, Rosalie knew the correct spelling of the word. Still, without hesitation, she replied that she had misspelled the word and she walked from the stage.

The entire audience stood and applauded, including some fifty newspaper reporters. The moment was a heartwarming and proud one for her parents. Even in defeat, she was a victor. Indeed, more has been written about Rosalie Elliott over the years than about the “unknown” winner of the event!

Being a person of truth, even when it is against us, will bring great honor.

Poem by Elizabeth Cheney — Overheard In An Orchard

Said the Robin to the Sparrow:

“I should really like to know

Why these anxious human beings

Rush about and worry so?”

Said the Sparrow to the Robin:

“Friend, I think that it must be

That they have no Heavenly Father

Such as cares for you and me.”

Anecdote by Arlene Creswell — "Dear Sunday School Teacher"

You probably don’t remember me. I was one of many little girls who graced your Sunday school class. I came to you dressed up in dotted Swiss and patent leather, looking like somebody’s darling, but sincerely wishing I were somewhere else. I squirmed and fidgeted during your story of Noah, and said I didn’t care why God sent the flood, I wanted my daddy.

In junior high, I was the one who passed notes to Tommy; the one who tricked Paula into reading the seventh chapter of Solomon’s Song for a Sunday school devotional; the one who insisted you explain (in front of the whole class) who Jesus would decide to save if two people were drowning.

I was the one in the college class (just before I “dropped out” entirely) who asked you, as you spoke of God’s unconditional love, if it really mattered anyway, since rumor had it God was dead.

But one dreadful night, dear teacher, my world crashed in around me/ Fear and bitterness, and depression threatened to push me across that fine line that separates the rational from the otherwise. In my utter desperation I cried out to the God you assured me existed.

I begged him to rescue me from myself, to save me, to show me the way to Him. Jesus responded to me, dear teacher, through a verse you patiently prodded me to memorize one Sunday as I squirmed and fidgeted in my dotted Swiss:

“I am the way, the truth, and the life. No man comes unto the father, except by me.”

He comforted me during that long, lonely night as I repeated those precious verses you taught me year after year. The truth and strength of those passages provided a lifeline at the end of my rope, a footbridge across that terrifying chasm between darkness and light.

You probably don’t remember me, dear Sunday school teacher. But I remember you; How eternally grateful I will be for your patience, your persistence, and your love. How sorry I am that I have lost track of you and can’t come to you and hug you, and share with you my glorious (though belated discovery) that He lives! Just like you said all along.

Thoughts on the Lord's Prayer by Charles H. Spurgeon

This prayer (Matthew 6:9-13) begins where all true prayer must commence, with the spirit of adoption,

Our Father

There is no acceptable prayer until we can say, “I will arise, and go unto my Father.”  This child-like spirit soon perceives the grandeur of the Father

“which art in heaven,”

and ascends to devout adoration,

“hallowed be Thy Name.”

The child lisping, “Abba, Father,” grows into the cherub crying, “Holy, Holy, Holy.”  There is but a step from rapturous worship to the glowing missionary spirit, which is a sure outgrowth of filial love and reverent adoration---

“Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.”

Next follows the heartfelt expression of dependence upon God ---

“Give us this day our daily bread.”

Being further illuminated by the Spirit, he discovers that he is not only dependent, but sinful, hence he entreats for mercy.

“And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.”

And being pardoned, having the righteousness of Christ imputed, and knowing his acceptance with God, he humbly supplicates for holy perseverance,

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

That is sanctification in its negative and positive forms.  As the result of all this, there follows a triumphant ascription of praise,

“For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen.”

We rejoice that our King reigns in providence and shall reign in grace, from the river even to the ends of the earth, and of His Kingdom there shall be no end. Thus from a sense of adoption, up to fellowship with our reigning Lord, this short model of prayer conducts the soul.  Lord, teach us thus to pray.

Anecdote by Charles H. Spurgeon

Charles Spurgeon, the noted English preacher of the Word, noticed that the weather vane on the roof of a farm building bore the phrase “God is Love” and was troubled. “Do you think God’s love is a changeable as that weather vane?” he asked the farmer.

“You miss the point, sir,” replied the farmer. “It’s on the weather vane because no matter which way the wind is blowing, God is still love.”

Anecdote by Daniel Webster — Words of Wisdom

If we abide by the principles taught in the Bible, our country will prosper. But if we and our posterity neglect the instructions and authority in this book, no man can tell how sudden a catastrophe may overtake us and bury our glory in profound obscurity.   

This is the Book that inspired thousands of men and women to travel to a New World where they could live and worship God in freedom.

This is the Book our forefathers drew upon for the great principles included in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.

This is the Book that the people of America --- in every walk of life --- have turned to for strength, for comfort and for guidance.

This is the Book that is in every court of this broad land, a reminder of America ’s ideal of freedom and justice for all.

This is the Book that its enemies burn --- the Book they smear and fear, because it proclaims the dignity of the individual and teaches that all men are created in the image of God.

America still needs the Bible!

We need courage to face today’s problems and divine wisdom to solve them, just as our forefathers did.

We need to renew the spirit of faith in the Book that is the foundation of our personal well-being, and cornerstone of our country’s greatness.

Let this Book revive in us the spirit of our fathers to face tomorrow unafraid.

Let us too turn to the Book that reveals the mind of God, His holiness, His love for lost sinners and His salvation through Jesus Christ.

Poem by W.E. Henley — "Invictus" vs. Poem by Dorothea Day — "The Captain"

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced or cried aloud

Under the bludgeoning of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the grave

Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matter not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishment the scroll.

I am the master of my fate

I am the captain of my soul.

The Captain  

Out of the light that dazzles me,

Bright as the sun from pole to pole

I thank the God I know to be

For Christ ---- the Conqueror of my soul.

Since His the sway of circumstance

I would not wince, nor cry aloud.

Under that rule which men call chance,

My head, with joy, is humbly bowed.

Beyond this place of sin and tears,

That life with Him ---- and His the aid

That spike the menace of the years,

Keeps, and will keep me unafraid

I have no fear though strait the gate;

He cleared from punishment the scroll,

Christ is the Master of my fate!

Christ is the Captain of my soul.

Poem by Margaret E. Barber — My Cup Runneth Over

There is always something over,

When we trust our gracious Lord;

Every cup He fills o’erfloweth,

His great rivers all are broad.

Nothing narrow, nothing stinted,

Ever issues from His store;

To His own He gives full measure,

Running over, evermore.

There is always something over,

When we. From the Father’s hand,

Take our portion with thanksgiving,

Praising for the path He planned.

Satisfaction, full and deepening,

Fills the soul, and lights the eye,

When the heart has trust Jesus

All its need to satisfy.

There is always something over,

When we tell of all His love;

Unplumbed depths still lie beneath us,

Unscaled heights rise far above;

Human lips can never utter

All His wondrous tenderness,

We can only praise and wonder,

And His name forever bless.

Poem by Unknown — "The Desert"

I said: ”The desert is so wide!”

I said: “The desert is so bare!

What springs to quench my thirst are there?

Whence shall I from the tempest hide?”

I said: “The desert is so lone!

Nor gentle voice, nor loving face

Will brighten any smallest space,”

I paused or ere my moan was done!

I heard a flow of hidden springs;

Before me palms rose green and fair;

The birds were singing; all the air

Did shine and stir with angels’ wings!

And One said mildly: “Why, indeed,

Take over-anxious thought for that

The morrow bringeth? See you not

The Father knoweth what you need?”

Poem by Unknown — The Rain May Fall

“Though the rain may fall and the wind be blowing,

And cold and chill is the wintry blast;

Though the cloudy sky is still cloudier growing,

And the dead leaves tell that the summer has passed;

My face I hold to the stormy heaven,

My heart is as calm as the summer sea,

Glad to receive what my God has given,

Whate’er it be.

When I feel the cold, I can say, ‘He sends it,’

And His winds blow blessing, I surely know;

For I’ve never a want but that He attends it;

And my heart beats warm, though the winds may blow”

Poem by Unknown — I'll Stay

“I’ll stay where You’ve put me; I will, dear Lord,

          Though I wanted so badly, to go;

I was eager to march with the ’rank and file,’

Yes, I wanted to lead them, You know.

I planned to keep step to the music loud,

To cheer when the banner unfurled,

To stand in the midst of the fight straight and proud,

But I’ll stay were You’ve put me.

“I’ll stay where You’ve put me, I’ll work, dear Lord

Though the field be narrow and small,

And the ground be fallow, and the stones lie thick,

And there seems to be no life at all.

The field is Thine own, only give me the seed,

I’ll sow it with never a fear;

I’ll till the dry soil while I want for the rain,

And rejoice when the green blades appear;

I’ll work where You’ve put me.

“I’ll stay where You’ve put me; I will, dear Lord;

I’ll bear the day’s burden and heat,

Always trusting Thee fully; when even has come

I’ll lay heavy sheaves at Thy feet.

And then, when my earth work is ended and done,

In the light of eternity’s glow,   

Life’s record all closed, I surely shall find

It was better to stay than to go;

I’ll stay where You’ve put me.