Time Marches On

Time marches on with measured footfalls,

Passing through our weakly built walls,
It never leaves, nor stops, nor rests,
Hear it ticking- softly ticking-
Still it's ticking!
And it contains many hard tests.


Remember that to us it's measured,
And it must be greatly treasured,
Hark! The winds of change are speaking!
Hear them blowing- softly blowing-
Still they're blowing!
And they our very lives are seeking!


For through our fingers time is seeping,
Resolve to be no more found sleeping!
We must rise above this earth's chains,
Hear them breaking- loudly breaking-
Now they're breaking!
For the Lord, He still sustains!

A Poem of Poems

I have not written in awhile,
Anything to make you smile,
For that I do apologize,
But nothing has yet caught my eyes,
To write another poem about,
Nothing has yet been so stout,
As to stand the scrunity,
Of a poet's eye, like me,
So for now I will search on,
from the evening 'till the dawn,
Hoping ever yet to find,
The perfect thing for which to ryhme!

The Lord Above

The sunlight gently filtered down,

Through the top of trees' green crown,
And played upon the forest floor,

Though shadows it did not explore,

And waved in passing to the breeze,

That wound it's way through ancient trees,

Emerging on a rocky height,

Where below, the ground dwindled out of sight,

And farther out the ocean's roar,

Echoed, as at the rocks it tore,

And the seagull crying overhead,

Passed o'er the path on which I tread,

And as I gazed upon this scene,

A voice came to me, as in a dream,

"Behold, all that you see and more

From forest trees to rocky shore,

Was made by Me, the Lord above,

And is cherished much, with tender love."

The Power of Prayer

On my way to a place,
Out of time out of space,
Out of worry and care,
Out of desperate despair,
I'm going there,
To my quiet prayer,
Peaceful in every degree,
With no tears to see,
God is with me,
And I am free.

The Gates

I traveled back in time today,

To a land that's far away,

Through a gate with pages old,

Passage there through print that's bold,

I looked over the landscape cream,

And smiled at my own daydream,

Then sighed and traveled back again,
Through ancient forest and green fen,

To castle of my own,

Bright and cheery, warm, it's home,

Even though I'm back once more,

I see gate's shadows on the floor.

Isaiah

Long ago and far away,
In a land scorched hot by day,
There was a man, both brave and true,
He lived among, and was, a Jew.
Advisor to high royalty,
To God he gave his loyalty,
He stood for what he knew was right,
Though he stood alone to fight,
When others wanted to give in,
He knew that God alone would win.
But the people of his realm,
By dark sin were overwhelmed,
So this man cried to the Lord,
"Let me speak to them Your word!"
God heard him and said "Go and speak,"
"To the strong, and rich, and weak."
So he spoke just as God said,
But abuse rained on his head,
Still he kept true to his Lord,
And God will give him his reward.

My Lord

Lord I want to see you,
Show to me Your face,
Lord, where can I find You?
Guide me to the place.
By the blood of Jesus,
I'm admitted to Your grace,
And all of me is Yours,
While I run this long, hard race.
I thirst for righteousness,
I am no more disgraced,
Take me to Your water,
This sin in me replace,
Lord make me Your own daughter,
Hold me in Your embrace.

Victory Garden

Amidst the smell of good clean earth,
And plants of vibrant green,
There is an awe-inspiring sight,
The biggest you've ever seen.
Beside the young tomato plants,
And rows of sprouting beans,
Between the cucumbers we have left,
The dirt with weed-life teems!
These weeds, they grow up overnight,
And when we pull them out,
They seem to enjoy our piteous plight,
And come back just as stout.
But when we win this battle long,
And triumph o'er the weeds,
We'll feast on fruits of our labor sweet,
For God has supplied our needs.

Each Part

Each drop of rain is falling,
From the sky so silently,
And all must work together,
To make the dryness flee.
Each note does ring out sweetly,
Each has a part in this one song,
And if even one were missing,
Many could go wrong.
Each brush stroke in this painting,
Has a place that it should be,
And each must go there humbly,
So this picture I can see.
And just as one musician and one artist made them all,
So He made us rightly to abide by His good law,
And when you cannot see the use of things that seem so bad,
Remember God in heaven. Rejoice! Be now glad.

To all mothers....

Happy Mother's Day!!!!