Poem by John F. Brand — One Thing More Beautiful

The little girl hated her freckles,

Of which she had quite a few,

And when someone would tease her

She didn’t know what to do.

Grandma said, “They’re beautiful!

I wanted some when I was small.

Now name me one thing that’s prettier,

Just name one thing, that’s all.”

The little girl quickly dried her tears,

And looking up into Grandma’s face,

She said just one word ---- “Wrinkles”

And a smile did her tears replace.

Anecdote by Unknown — Christian Comparison

            Max Jukes lived in New York . He did not believe in Christ, and refused to take his children to church even when they asked to go. He had 1,026 descendants; 200 were sent to prison for an average term of 13 years, 190 were prostitutes and 680 were admitted alcoholics. The family has, thus far, cost the state in excess of $5 million. For all intents and purposes, they have made little or no contribution to society.

            Jonathan Edwards lived in the same state; at the same time. He loved the Lord, and made sure his children were in church each Sunday as he served the Lord to the best of his ability. He had 929 descendants. Of these, 430 were ministers, 96 became university presidents, 75 authored books, five were elected representatives and two became U.S. senators. One became Vice President of our country. His family cost the state not ONE DOLLAR, but has contributed immeasurably to the life of plenty that you and I enjoy.

            This brings the question. What is Christian behavior? Where is it found in everyday life? In the home, it is kindness; in business, it is honesty; in work, thoroughness; in play, it is fairness; toward the fortunate, it is congratulations; toward the unfortunate, it is pity; toward the weak it is help; toward the strong, it is trust; toward the penitent; it is forgiveness; toward God, it is reverence and love.

Poem by George Matheson — Make Me A Captive

Make me a captive, Lord,

  And then I shall be free;

Force me to render up by sword,

  And I shall conqueror be,

I sink in life’s alarms

   Where by 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 hast 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 Joyce Kilmer — The King Of Glory Enters In

No longer of Him, be it said,

“He hath no place to lay His head.”

In every land a constant lamp

Flames by His small and mighty camp.

There is no strange and distant place

That is not gladdened by His face.

And every nation kneels to hail

The splendor shining through its veil.

Cloistered beside the shouting street

Silent, He calls me to His feet.

Imprisoned for His love of me,

He makes my spirit greatly free.

And through my life that uttered sin

The King of Glory enters in.

Poem by John Newton — Looking Unto Jesus

Since Christ the Saviour I have known

My rules are all reduced to one

To keep my Lord, by faith, in view,

This strength supplies, and motives, too.

To look to Jesus as He rose,

Confirms my faith, disarms my foes,

Satan I shame and overcome,

By pointing to my Saviour’s tomb.

Exalted on His glorious throne,

I see Him make my cause His own,

Then all my anxious cares subside,

For Jesus lives and will provide.

By faith I see the hour at hand,

When in His presence I shall stand;

Then it will be my endless bliss

To see Him where and as He is.

Poem by Unknown — You Tell On Yourself

You tell what you are by the friends you seek,

By the very manner in which you speak,

By the way you employ your leisure time,

By the use you make of dollar and dime.

 You tell what you are by the things you wear,

By the spirit in which you burdens bear,

By the kind of things t which you laugh,

By records you play on the phonograph.

You tell what you are by the way you walk,

By the things of which you delight to talk,

By the manner in which you bear defeat,

By so simple a thing as how you eat.

By the books you choose from the well-filled shelf;

In these ways and more, you tell on yourself,

S there’s really no particle of sense

In an effort to keep up false pretense.

Poem by Robert Murray M’Cheyne — I Am A Debtor

When the passing world is done,

When has sunk yon glaring sun,

When we stand with Christ in glory,

Looking o’er life’s finished story;

Then, Lord, shall I fully know ----

Not till then ---- how much I owe.

When I stand before the throne,

Dressed in beauty not my own;

When I see Thee as thou art,

Love thee with unsinning heart,

Then, Lord, shall I fully know ----

Not till then ---- how much I owe.

Chosen not for good in me,

Wakened up from wrath to flee;

Hidden in the Saviour’s side,

By the Spirit sanctified;

Teach me, Lord, on earth to show,

By my love, how much I owe.

Poem by William Cowper — Light Shinning Out Of Darkness

God moves in a mysterious way,

His wonders to perform;

He plants His footsteps in the sea

And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines

Of never failing skill,

He treasures up his bright designs,

And works His sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints fresh courage take;

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy, and shall break

In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,

But trust Him for His grace;

Behind a frowning providence,

He hides a smiling face.

His purpose will ripen fast,

Unfolding every hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,

And scan His work in vain;

God is His own interpreter,

And He will make it plain

Poem by O. W. Holmes — O Love Divine

O Love Divine! That stooped to share

Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear,

On Thee we cast each earth-born care,

We smile at pain, while Thou art near.

Though long the weary way we tread,

And sorrow crown each lingering year,

No path we shun, no darkness dread

Our hearts still whispering, Thou are near.

On Thee we fling our burdening woe,

O Love Divine, forever dear;

Content to suffer, while we know

Living or dying, Thou are near!

Quote by Anonymous — “And Underneath Are The Everlasting Arms.”

            When I hear these words spoken, I see a little boy ---- a tired little boy ---- sitting in a church and thinking: I’m so sleepy; but I must keep awake, father will be cross.” Then the lights in the aisle spout flame, the figures in the painted window dance, his head nods, and his eyes close. A minute later they open with a start to find his father’s eyes fixed upon ---- that stern father in whose strenuous life there was no place for a little boy. Even if I close my eyes for one minute father will be angry,” thought the little boy. The preacher droned one. The little boy’s chin sank upon his jacket. When he awoke, his father’s eyes angrily the little boy thought, were again fixed upon him. His father moved; the little boy trembled, and then wonder of wonders! He was lifted from his place; his father’s arms were underneath him, around him. That, without fear ---- indeed with exquisite joy and great confidence ---- the little boy fell asleep in those kind arms.  So, I believe, it will be with us who are older when our time comes.

Musing on Bessie A Stanley

He has achieved success who has lived well, laughed often and loved much; who has gained the respect of intelligent men and the love of little children; who has filled his niche and accomplished his task; who has left the world better than he found it, whether by an improved poppy, a perfect poem, or a rescued soul; who has never lacked appreciation of earth’s beauty, or failed to express it; who has always looked for the best in others and given the best he had; whose life was an inspiration; whose memory a benediction.

Poem by Anonymous — It Is Better Farther On

I hear it singing, singing sweetly,

Softly in an undertone,

Singing as if God had taught it

“It is better farther on!”

Night and day it brings the message,

Sings it while I sit alone;

Sings so that the heart may hear it,

“It is better farther on!”

Sits upon the grave and sings it,

Sings it when the heart would groan,

Sings it when the shadows darken,

“It is better farther on!”

Farther on?  Oh! How much farther?

Count the mile-stones one by one,

No! No counting ---- only trusting

“It is better farther on!”

Poem by Rev. John F. Chaplain — He Leadeth Me

 In pastures green? Not always; sometimes He

   Who knoweth best, in kindness leadeth me

In many ways where heavy shadows be.

   Out of the sunshine warm and soft and bright ---

Out of the sunshine into the darkest night.

   I oft would faint with sorrow and affright,

Only for this --- I know He holds my hand;

   So whether in the green or desert land

I trust although I may not understand.

And by still waters? No, not always so;

   Ofttimes the heavy tempest round me blow,

And o’er my soul the waters and billows go

   But when the storms beat loudest and I cry

Around for help, the Master standeth by

   And whispers to my soul, “Lo, it is I”

Above the tempest wild I hear Him say,

   “Beyond the darkness lies a perfect day.

In every path of thine I lead the way.”

So whether on the hilltops high and fair

   I dwell, or in the sunless valleys where

The shadows lie --- what matters? He is there.

   So where He leads me, I can safely go,

And in the blest hereafter I shall know

   Why in His wisdom, He hath led me so.

Poem by Martha Snell Nicholson — The Lost Lamb

In the morning I was thoughtless,

Gay and bold,

Scornful of the quiet shelter

Of the fold.

Now at evening there I wondered,

Lost, forlorn,

And my weary feet were bleeding,

Cut and torn.

Then I heard my Shepherd calling,

Seeking me,

But I hid me, frightened, ---wist not

It was He.

But He found me, stooped and raised me

To His breast.

No reproach, He only bade me

Lie and rest.

Through the mountains then He bore me

All the night,

Sweetly cradled me, and soothed me

Till the light.

Then I saw His footprints in the

Morning dew,

And my heart broke, for His feet were

Bleeding too!

Poem by Martha Snell Nicholson — Trust

I have a little yellow bird

Who loves me very much,

And trusts me so he does not fear

My presence or my touch.

And all day long he is content

To hop about and sing,

And then at night he goes to sleep,

His head beneath his wing.

Sometimes I move his cage at night

And bang it all about;

He never bothers to arouse,

Nor take his wee head out

From underneath his little wing.

He feels no least alarm

Because he knows that it is I,

And that I mean no harm.

Thanks for the lesson, little bird.

I wish that I could be

As confident beneath God’s hand,

And rest as trustfully

Through all the hurricanes which beat

About my house of life,

And heed the tender voice which speaks

From out the storm and strife,

“Lo, it is I, be not afraid,

For here upon My breast,

Within a quiet place of peace

You may securely rest.”

Poem by Martha Snell Nicholson — Trusting

You ask how you learn to trust Him?

Dear, child, you just must let go!

Let go of your frantic worry,

And the fears which plague you so;

Let go of each black tomorrow

Which you try to live today;

Let go of your fevered planning,

He knoweth all your way.

Fear not lest your slipping fingers

Let go of you Saviour too, ----

Trusting is only knowing

He’ll not let go of you!

Poem by J. C. Brumfield — A Baby's Secret

I’m just a little feller

Who didn’t make it there;

I went straight to be with Jesus

   But I’m waiting for you here.

Don’t you fret about me Mommy,

I’m of all God’s lambs most blest;

I’d have loved to stay there with you,

   But the Shepherd knows what’s best.

Many dwelling here where I live,

Waited years to enter in,

Struggled through a world of sorrow

   And their lives were marred with sin.

So sweet Mommy don’t you sorrow,

Wipe those tears and chase the gloom,

I went straight to Jesus’ bosom

   From my lovely mother’s womb.

Thank you for the life you gave me.

It was brief, but don’t complain;

I have all of heaven’s glory

   Suffered none of earthling’s pain

Thank you for the name you gave me

I’d have loved to brought it fame;

But if I’d lingered in earth’s shadows

   Might instead have bro’t it shame

Daddy gave me something for you,

It’s our secret, Mommy dear.

Pressed it tight against my forehead,

   Whispered in my tiny ear.

I’ll be waiting for you, Mommy ----

You and Daddy, Bud and Sis.

I’ll be with you then forever ----

   Then I’ll give you Daddy’s kiss.

                        J. C. Brumfield

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.”

Poem by L.M.Hollingworth — Borrowed

They borrowed a bed to lay His head,

When Christ the Lord came down;

They borrowed an ass in the mountain pass

For Him to ride to town.

            But the crown that He wore

            And the cross that He bore

                        Were His own.

He borrowed the bread when the crowd He fed

On the grassy mountain side;

He borrowed the dish of broken fish

With which He satisfied.

            But the crown that He wore

            And the cross that He bore

                        Were His own.

He borrowed the ship in which to sit

To teach the multitude,

He borrowed the nest in which to rest,

He never had a home as rude,

            But the crown that He wore

            And the cross that He bore

                        Were His own.

He borrowed a room on the way to the tomb,

The passover lamb to eat.

They borrowed a cave, for Him a grave,

They borrowed a winding sheet.

            But the crown that He wore

            And the cross that He bore

                        Were His own.

The thorns on His head were worn in my stead,

For me the Saviour died;

For the guilt of my sin the nails drove in

When Him they crucified.

            Though the crown that He wore

            And the cross that He bore

                        Were His own.

They rightly were mine.

Poem by Unknown — Are All The Children In

I think ofttimes as the night draws nigh

Of an old house on the hill,

Of a yard all wide and blossom-starred

Where children played at will.

And when the night at last came down,

Hushing the merry din,

Mother would look around and ask,

“Are all the children in?”

“Tis many and many a year since then,

And the old house on the hill

No longer echoes to childish feet,

And the year is still, so still.

But I see it all, as the shadows creep,

And though many the years have been

Since then, I can hear mother ask,

“Are all the children in?”

I wonder when the shadows fall

On that last short, earthly day,

When we say good-bye to the world outside,

All tired with our childish play,

When we step out into that Other Land

Where mother so long has been,

Will we hear her ask, just as of old

“Are all the children in?”

Poem by John Greenleaf Whittier

I see the wrong that round me lies,

   I feel the guilt within,

With groan and travail cries

   I hear the world confess its sin.

Within the maddening maze of things,

   And tossed by storm and flood,

To one fixed stake my spirit clings;

   I know that God is good.

I know not where His islands lift

   Their fronded palms in air;

I only know I cannot drift

   Beyond His love and care.

Poem by Robert Browning — I Go To Prove My Soul

I see my way as birds their trackless way,

I shall arrive! What time, what circuit first,

I ask not; but unless God send His hail

Or blinding fire-balls, sleet or stifling snow,

In some time, His good time, I shall arrive;

He guides me and the bird. In His good time!

Poem by Jessie M. Shaw

One old lady kept a sighing;

Said she wasn’t young,

Didn’t look as sweet’s she used to,

Times were all unstrung;

Troubles doubled aches, and favors

Went a flying past,

Wrinkles stung like thorns and eyesight

Kept a falling fast.

One old lady kept a saying

Life was like the spring,

Brighter blossoms always coming,

Birds around to sing;

Troubles come ---- and went; she let ‘em,

Didn’t count the throng.

Thanked the Lord’ most every morning

She’d been young so long!

Quote by Henry Van Dyke

To be glad of life because it gives you the chance to love and to work and to play and to look up at the stars; to be satisfied with your possessions, but not content with yourself until you have made the best of them; to despise nothing in the world except falsehood and meanness, and to fear nothing except cowardice; to be governed by your admirations rather than your dislikes, to covet nothing that is your neighbor’s except his kindness of heart and gentleness of manners; to think seldom of your enemies, often of your friends, and every day of Christ; and to spend as much time as you can with body and with spirit in God’s out-of-doors --- these are little guide-posts on the footpath to peace.