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Great Poems and Writings A new item is usually added at the top of this page each week. But God I know not, but God knows; Oh, blessed rest from fear! All my unfolding days To Him are plain and clear. Each anxious, puzzled “Why?” From doubt or dread that grows, Finds answer in this thought: I know not, but He knows. I cannot, but God can; Oh, balm for all my care! The burden that I drop His hand will lift and bear. Though eagle pinions tire, I walk where once I ran, This is my strength to know I cannot, but He can. I see not, but God sees; Oh, all sufficient light! My dark and hidden way To Him is always bright. My strained and peering eyes May close in restful ease, And I in peace may sleep; I see not, but He sees. —Annie Johnson Flint All Things Work Together For Good To Them That Love God Romans 8:28 Just how this statement can be true, Perhaps has often puzzled you; You've wondered now that "all things" could, Work out for your eternal good: How trouble, sorrow and unrest, Could work together for the best; How this could be, you did not know, And yet, you felt it must be so. Now "all things" mean both good and bad, Yes, things that really make you sad; It means your sickness and your health, Your poverty as well as wealth; Of trouble you will have your share, While in this world of toil and care; But rest assured you have a friend, Who knows your life from start to end. Should God permit dark clouds some day, To cast a gloom across your way, Just take it as your Father's (permissive) will; You're in His care, He loves you still; Be not alarmed, nor be cast down, "Tis through these trials you will a crown; All earthly sorrow soon shall cease, While joys eternal shall increase. There's much we do not understand, But "all things" are within His hand; Remember God's mysterious plan, Cannot be solved by mortal man; But when we reach the land of rest, We then shall see that He knew best: The things we had not understood, We'll realize (worked for our eternal good). ---By Uncle Charlie Cox A TV Prayer Lord, help me to watch What I watch on TV-- To turn off the bad And only the good to see. For it may enter my heart, What I watch on TV-- And I very much want my heart Kept pure and Holy for Thee. (E.W.) "I will set no wicked thing before mine eyes." (Psalm 101:3) A LITTLE MIXED UP Just a line to say I'm living. That I'm not among the dead. Though I'm getting more forgetful And more "mixed up" in the head. For, sometimes I can't remember When I stand at the foot of the stair If I must go up for something, Or If I've just come down from there. And before the fridge, so often My poor mind is filled with doubt. Have I just put food away, or Have I come to take some out? And there's times when it is dark out With my night cap on my head, I don't know if I'm retiring Or just getting out of bed. So, if it's my turn to write you, There's no need in getting sore. I may think I have written, And don't want to be a bore. So remember, I do love you, And wish that you were here, But now it's nearly mail time So, I must say "goodbye, dear." There I stood beside the mailbox, With a face so very red. Instead of mailing you my letter, I had opened it instead!! ---Author Unknown A BOY'S MOTHER My mother she's so good to me, Ef I was good as I could be, I couldn't be as good--no, sir!-- Can't any boy be good as her! She loves me when I'm glad er sad; She loves me when I'm good er bad; An', what's a funniest thing, she says She loves me when she punishes. I don't like her to punish me,-- That don't hurt,--but it hurts to see Her cryin',--Nen I cry; and' nen We both cry an' be good again. She loves me when she cuts and sews My little cloak and' Sund'y clothes; An' when my Pa comes home to tea, She loves him 'most as much as me. She laughs an' tells him all I said, An' grabs me up and pats my head; And I hug her, and hug my Pa An' love him purt' nigh as much as Ma. Why I Never Missed School I didn't want to go to school one day What excuse could I pick? I came up with an "original idea" I told Mother I was feelin' sick. Mother smiled and went downstairs But came back in a minute, She had a bottle marked Castor oil With a clear-looking liquid in it. She fed me two teaspoons of Castor oil And said, "That should do the trick." Then promised to give me more later That is, if I was still feelin' sick. Now friends, believe me when I tell you That what I'd had was enough, 'Cause I sure didn't want any more Of that awful-tasting stuff. I was up and putting on my clothes When Mother walked out the door, I ate real quick and left for school With a vow to never play sick anymore. Mothers today should use Castor oil To keep their kids on the narrow way, It's been nearly 50 years now, But I remember that awful tastin' stuff... Like it was yesterday. WHAT MATTERS My mother says she does not care About the color of my hair, Nor if my eyes are blue or brown Nor if my nose turns up or down It doesn’t really matter. And mother says she does not care If I am dark or if I am fair, Or if I’m thin or if I’m fat She doesn’t fret o’er things like that It doesn’t really matter. But if I cheat or tell a lie, Or say mean things to make folks cry, Or if I’m rude or impolite And do not try to do the right Then THAT does really matter. It isn’t looks that make one great But character that seals your fate. It’s within your heart, you see That makes or mars your destiny And that does REALLY matter. WHAT GOD HATH PROMISED God hath not promised Skies always blue, Flower-strewn pathways All our lives through; God hath not promised Sun without rain, Joy without sorrow, Peace without pain. God hath not promised We shall not know Toil and temptation, Trouble and woe; He hath not told us We shall not bear Many a burden, Many a care. God hath not promised Smooth roads and wide, Swift, easy travel, Needing no guide; Never a mountain, Rocky and steep, Never a river Turbid and deep. But God HATH promised Strength for the day, Rest for the labor, Light for the way, Grace for the trials, Help from above, Unfailing sympathy, Undying love. —Annie Johnson Flint THEY SAY I’M GROWING OLD They say that I am growing old I’ve heard them tell it times untold In language plain and bold – But I am not growing old. This frail old shell in which I dwell Is growing old, I know full well – But I am not the shell. What if my hair is turning grey? Grey hairs are honorable, they say. What if my eyesight’s growing dim? I still can see to follow Him Who sacrificed His life for me Upon the cross of Calvary. What need I care if time’s old plow Has left her furrows on my brow? Another house not made with hands Awaits me in the glory lands. What though my tongue refuse to talk And though I falter in my walk? I still can tread the narrow way, I still can watch and praise and pray. What though my hearing’s not so keen As in the past it might have been? I still can hear my Saviour say In whispers sweet, This is the way. The outer man — do what I can To lengthen out his life’s short span – Will moulder and return to dust As everything in nature must. But the inner man, the Scriptures say, Is growing stronger every day. Then how can I be growing old When safe within my Saviour’s fold? ‘Ere long my soul shall fly away And leave this tenement of clay. This robe of flesh I’ll drop, and rise To gain the everlasting prize And I’ll meet you on the streets of gold To prove that I am not growing old. —John E. Roberts THE WORLD IS MINE Today, upon a bus, I saw a lovely girl with golden hair; I envied her, she seemed so happy, and wished I were as fair. When suddenly she rose to leave, I saw her hobble down the aisle; She had one leg and wore a crutch, and as she passed, a smile. Oh God, forgive me when I whine, I have two legs, the world is mine. And then I stopped to buy some sweets, the lad who sold them had such charm I talked with him, he seemed so glad, if I were late t’would do no harm. As I left, he said to me, “I thank you for being so kind, you see sir,” he said, “I’m blind.” Oh God, forgive me when I whine, I have two eyes, the world is mine. Later, walking down the street, I saw a child with eyes of blue, He stood and watched the others play, it seemed he knew not what to do. I stopped a moment and then I said, “Why don’t you join the others dear?” He looked straight ahead without a word, and then I knew, he could not hear. O God, forgive me when I whine, I have two ears, the world is mine. With legs to take me where I’d go With eyes to see the sunset’s glow With ears to hear what I would know Oh God, forgive me when I whine, I’m blessed indeed, the world is mine. ---Author Unknown THE WILD WHITE ROSE It was peeping through the brambles, that little wild white rose, Where the hawthorn hedge was planted, my garden to enclose; All beyond was fern and heather, on the breezy, open moor; All within was sun and shelter, and the wealth of beauty’s shore. But I did not heed the fragrance of flow’ret or of tree, For my eyes were on that rosebud, and it grew too high for me. In vain I strove to reach it through the tangled mass of green, It only smiled and nodded behind its thorny screen. Yet through that summer morning I lingered near the spot; Oh, why do things seem sweeter if we possess them not? My garden buds were blooming, but all that I could see Was that little mocking wild rose hanging just too high for me. So in life’s wider garden there are buds of promise, too, Beyond our reach to gather, but not beyond our view; And like the little charmer that tempted me astray, They steal out half the brightness of many a summer’s day. Oh, hearts that fail with longing for some forbidden tree, Look up and learn a lesson from my white rose and me. ‘Tis wiser far to number the blessings at my feet Than ever to be sighing for just one bud more sweet. My sunbeams and my shadows fall from a pierced hand, I can surely trust His wisdom since His heart I understand; And maybe in the morning, when His blessed face I see, He will tell me why my white rose grew just too high for me. ----Ellen H. Willis THE SET OF THE SAIL I stood on the shore beside the sea; The wind from the West blew fresh and free, While past the rocks at the harbor’s mouth The ships went North, and the ships went South, And some sailed out on an unknown quest, And some sailed into the harbor’s rest; Yet ever the wind blew out of the West. I said to one who had sailed the sea That this was a marvel unto me; For how can the ships go safely forth, Some to the South and some to the North, Far out to sea on their golden quest, Or in to the harbor’s calm and rest, And ever the wind blew out of the West? The sailor smiled as he answered me, "Go where you will when you’re on the sea, Though head winds baffle and flaws delay, You can keep the course by night and day, Drive with the breeze or against the gale; It will not matter what winds prevail, For all depends on the set of the sail." Voyager soul on the sea of life, O’er waves of sorrow and sin and strife, When fogs bewilder and foes betray, Steer straight on your course from day to day; Though unseen currents run deep and swift, Where rocks are hidden and sandbars shift, All helpless and aimless, you need not drift. Oh, set your sail to the heavenly gale, And then, no matter what winds prevail, No reef shall wreck you, no calm delay, No mist shall hinder, no storm shall stay; Though far you wander and long you roam, Through salt sea-spray and o’er white sea-foam, No wind that can blow but shall speed you home. —Annie Johnson Flint The Making of the Beautiful --- by Annie Johnson Flint Meadow and vale and mountain, Ocean and lake and wood, God looked on the fruit of His labor And saw that His work was good; And yet was there something lacking In the world that He had made, Something to brighten the greenness, Something to lighten the shade? He took a shred of the rainbow, A bit of the sunshine’s gold, The colors of all the jewels The mines of earth enfold, A piece of the mist of evening With the sunset woven through, A scrap of th sky at noonday, A clear, unclouded blue. Of these He fashioned the flowers, And some were red, like the rose, And some were a lovely azure, And some were pale as the snows; Some, shaped like fairy chalice The perfumed honey to hold, And some were stars of silver, And some were flakes of gold. They flashed in the gloom of the forests, They clung to the boughs of the trees, They hid in the grass of the meadows, They drifted away on the breeze, They fell in the clefts of the canyons And high on the mountains bare, Where never an eye should see them Save His Who had made them fair. But still there was something wanting, His labor was not yet done; He gathered more of the colors Of rainbow and sky and sun, And now unto these He added The music of sea and land, The tune of the rippling river, The splash of the waves on the sand, The raindrops’ lilting measure, The pine tree’s crooning sigh, The aspen’s lisping murmur, The wind’s low lullaby, Faint fluting of angel voices From heavenly courts afar, And the softest, dreamiest echoes Of the song of the morning star. Then deftly His fingers moulded The strong and the delicate things Instinct with the joy and the beauty Of song and of soaring wings; Nightingale, heron and seagull, Bobolink, lark–and then, I think that He smiled a little As He tilted the tail of the wren, As He made the owl’s face solemn And twisted the blue jay’s crest, As He bent the beak of the parrot And smoothed the oriole’s vest, As He burnished the crow’s jet plumage And the robin’s breast of red; “In the cold of the northern springtime The children will love it,” He said. So some were quaint and cunning, and some were only fair, And some He gave a song to, And lo, the birds of the air. And the snippets of things left over, He tossed out under the skies, Where, falling, fluttering, flying, Behold, they were butterflies! THE LOVE OF CHRIST How broad is His love? Oh, as broad as man’s trespass, As wide as the need of the world can be; And yet to the need of one soul it can narrow— He came to the world and He came to me. How long is His love? Without end or beginning, Eternal as Christ and His life it must be, For, to everlasting as from everlasting He loveth the world and He loveth me. How deep is His love? Oh, as deep as man’s sinning. As low as that uttermost vileness can be; In the fathomless gulf of the Father’s forsaking He died for the world and He died for me. How high is His love? It is high as the heavens, As high as the throne of His glory must be; And yet from that height He hath stooped to redeem us– He so loved the world and He so loved me. How great is His love? Oh, it passeth all knowledge, No man’s comprehension its measure can be; It filleth the world, yet each heart may contain it– He so loves the world and He so loves me. —Annie Johnson Flint THE LORD’S PRAYER Do you know you cannot say the Lord’s prayer and even once say “I?” You cannot say the Lord’s prayer and even once say “my?” Nor can you say the Lord’s prayer and not pray for another? For when you ask for daily bread you must include your brother. For others are included in each and every plea From the beginning to the end of it, It doesn’t once say, “me.” THE CREATION by James Weldon Johnson (1871-1938) AND God stepped out on space, And He looked around and said, "I'm lonely -- I'll make me a world." And far as the eye of God could see Darkness covered everything, Blacker than a hundred midnights Down in a cypress swamp. Then God smiled, And the light broke, And the darkness rolled up on one side, And the light stood shining on the other, And God said, "That's good!" Then God reached out and took the light in His hands, And God rolled the light around in His hands Until He made the sun; And He set that sun a-blazing in the heavens. And the light that was left from making the sun God gathered it up in a shining ball And flung it against the darkness, Spangling the night with the moon and stars. Then down between The darkness and the light He hurled the world; And God said, "That's good!" Then God himself stepped down -- And the sun was on His right hand, And the moon was on His left; The stars were clustered about His head, And the earth was under His feet. And God walked, and where He trod His footsteps hollowed the valleys out And bulged the mountains up. Then He stopped and looked and saw That the earth was hot and barren. So God stepped over to the edge of the world And He spat out the seven seas; He batted His eyes, and the lightnings flashed; He clapped His hands, and the thunders rolled; And the waters above the earth came down, The cooling waters came down. Then the green grass sprouted, And the little red flowers blossomed, The pine tree pointed his finger to the sky, And the oak spread out his arms, The lakes cuddled down in the hollows of the ground, And the rivers ran down to the sea; And God smiled again, And the rainbow appeared, And curled itself around His shoulder. Then God raised His arm and He waved His hand Over the sea and over the land, And He said, "Bring forth! Bring forth!" And quicker than God could drop His hand. Fishes and fowls And beasts and birds Swam the rivers and the seas, Roamed the forests and the woods, And split the air with their wings. And God said, "That's good!" Then God walked around, And God looked around On all that He had made. He looked at His sun, And He looked at His moon, And He looked at His little stars; He looked on His world With all its living things, And God said, "I'm lonely still." Then God sat down On the side of a hill where He could think; By a deep, wide river He sat down; With His head in His hands, God thought and thought, Till He thought, "I'll make me a man!" Up from the bed of the river God scooped the clay; And by the bank of the river He kneeled Him down; And there the great God Almighty Who lit the sun and fixed it in the sky, Who flung the stars to the most far corner of the night, Who rounded the earth in the middle of His hand; This Great God, Like a mammy bending over her baby, Kneeled down in the dust Toiling over a lump of clay Till He shaped it in His own image; Then into it He blew the breath of life, And man became a living soul. Amen. Amen.

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