MORE SPIRITUAL POETRY

The Press of His Hand

Through vine-latticed windows I viewed a rare sight,
A lad found a bird that had fallen in flight.
He spoke to the bird, so serene on his breast,
"Little tyke, you have rested, -- now fly to your nest."
But it stirred not a whit, so he nudged it along --
Till the bird spread it's wings, sailing swiftly and strong.
"It's not myst'ry," he said, "for I now understand --
That it needed the press and caress of my hand.

Through star-latticed windows He watched with great care,
As I faltered in flight and then fell in despair;
But His arms then upheld me while softly He said,
"My grace is suffic'ent, -- so lift up ty head."
He touched me so gently, my heart raced anew --
Till my spirit took wings as I soared o'er the blue.
It's no myst'ry to me for I now understand --
That I needed the press and caress of His hand.

Jewels for a Crown

Now you can't take it with you, I'm told.
Leave behind all your silver and gold;

But the songs that you sing,
And the gladness you bring;
Or the kind golden deed,
For the stranger in need;
Or the heart cheering smile,
That makes living worthwhile;
Or the much needed gift,
For the burden to lift;
Or the life that you give,
So that others may live;
Or the words of his love,
Coming down from above;

These are jewels, not of earth, but instead,
For your crown can be sent on ahead.

Hallowed Hands

Kiss thy mother's hands, my child,
They have shielded thee.
Thy first footsteps they did guide,
With anxiety.
Hands that stroked thy fever'd brow,
All danger did defy.
Mother singing; gladness bringing,
With her lullaby.

Kiss thy mother's hands, my child,
They have wrung for thee --
Prayers to God that through the years,
Thou wilt Christlike be,
Hands that held aloft the Cross,
Then brought thee to His throne.
Mother pleading; interceding,
Just for thee alone.

Kiss thy mother's hands, my child,
Now, -- ere comes the day,
When they'll gently folded be,
In that peaceful way.
Just a kiss, but mother knows --
And gladly understands.
Gently press them; kiss caress them,
These are Hallowed Hands.

Christ in the Now

If I had been there, up steep Calvary's Hill,
The day that He died and the Ages stood still,
I could not have curbed the cruel order of law,
Nor try, e'er so gently, the nails to withdraw.
But I could have attempted, if they would allow --
Removing the thorns that they pressed on His brow.
That they pressed on His brow.

If I had been there, I'd have shared His disgrace --
By wiping the filth when they spat in His face.
I would kneel at the feet of my Savior and Lord,
And His side I would shield from the menacing sword.
I would press to the lips of the One whom they cursed --
A quenching cool cup when He cried out, "I thirst."
When He cried out, "I thirst."

Stop mourning the past, for Christ lives in the Now.
The world is still pressing sharp thorns on His brow;
Still nailing Our Lord so afresh without fault --
By ignoring the weak, the poor helpless and halt.
That quenching cool cup, for His thirst to allay,
By His Own Precious Word, you can give Him today.
You can give Him today.

The Quenching Cool Cup

If I had been there, up steep Calvary's Hill,
The day that He died and the Ages stood still,
I could not have curbed the cruel order of law,
Nor try,e'er so gently, the nails to withdraw;
But I'd press to the lips of the One whom they cursed
A quenching cool cup when He cried out, "I thirst."

Stop mourning the past, for Christ lives in the Now.
The world is still pressing sharp thorns on His brow;
Still nailing our Lord so afresh without fault --
By ignoring the weak, the poor helpless, and halt.
That quenching cool cup for His thirst to allay,
By His Own Precious Word you can give Him today.