Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Fit Praise

A new song sings my stammering heart
To shake from its malaise;
How many ways can words combine
To aptly sing Thy praise?
So may I trust praise-worthiness
To Him who made my tongue--
Who knows not just the song I sing
But heartsongs strewn among!

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Bird's Song

A lesson, Lord, to me
May this tiny bird be--
For though the lightless world
Has yet to spring a day,
It's morn enough for her
To sing and say
Her God is good.

A lesson, Lord, to me
May this tiny bird be--
She sings without behest
Though her little nest
Is shivered by a mist;
Her God is praised in blindness--
With no questioning fist.

A lesson, Lord, to me
May this tiny bird be--
Her song lights so cheerful
Into the unknown--
While fearful me steps cautiously
Along--forgetting both my song
And Thy sufficiency.

Monday, May 24, 2010


Resilient Lord? I cry to Thee--
The storm has seemed so long;
The wind out-blasts my little strengths
And carries off my song.
The rain falls steady--ever on--
To rival but my tears;
Joy cometh in the morning?
Not until this midnight clears.

Resilient Lord? I lift for strength
These feeble arms of mine,
For every weight too weighty seems
And yet more come with time.
My clothes soaked through with showers;
My mind without its muse,
And I bruised, all from falling
Over rock encumbered shoes.

Resilient Lord? My stooping form
Is not an Atlas frame!
And yet this pile of burdens
Weighs global just the same
Father, mother, brother, friend--
All in a heap on me,
And some days my own heart
Departs to the periphery.

Resilient Lord? I hear your voice
Now telling me, "Be still."
You speak to me in quiet
You whisper soft until
I understand your meaning,
Or else but know you near--
And find new strength for leaning
Though the answer's not yet clear.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Poured Out For Me

Oh come alive my soul again!
The light has near gone out--
The valley of the shadow
Has left my heart in drought.
Can anyone, O anyone,
Conceive how dry I'm poured?
Oh yes! The One poured out for me,
My Savior and my Lord!

Oh come alive my soul again!
May light shine through the dark--
For darkness has no power
Where Christ has left His Mark!
Oh gladly now I take His cross--
With joy, I'll be poured out;
No more to mourn the marching,
But marching on, to shout!

Poured out for me! Poured out for me!
And knowing my infirmity
My Great High Priest knows well my plight
For He was once poured out for me!

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Quiet Place

Lord, keep me in the quiet place,
Restore the still within;
For I can hardly keep apace
With life--and my own sin.
But Lord, your yoke is easy;
Your burden--it is light--
Oh, draw me back to quiet,
To holiness and right.

Lord, keep me in the quiet place;
The noises take their toll--
And spent, my rent serenity
Evades my scattered soul.
Oh, let me hear the still small voice
Past earthquake, wind, and rain
And hearing, hear the Prince of Peace--
The Peace who bore my pain.

Lord, keep me in the quiet place
While quiet is Your Will--
Then leaving placid fellowship,
Cause me be quiet still.
For I am poor and needy,
And my own strength dwindles fast;
Oh Jesus, Peaceful Savior,
Keep me quiet to the last.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Infant Expectations

In infancy, we trust to God those blessings given us,
But as fruition finds them grown, have we still heart to trust?
For infancy knows many dreams of height and voice and climb,
But trust we still the Savior, with growth not matched by time?
Full maturation is His boon--a boon in His own way--
His thoughts match not our thoughts, oft times; His ways match not our ways.

He uses for an orator, the one who cannot speak;
He chooses not the mighty to confound, but calls the weak.
To suit the battle beyond odds, he takes the trembling hand,
Empowers it to act, and thus, He takes the land.
Anointed to be king?--The youngest and the least.
After God's own heart?--The one caught in a tryst.
Mother of the wisest?--A woman fallen low.
Mother of the Highest?--She who said, "Lord, be it so."

So let us trust in infancy, the plan that's gone awry,
The child who's gone astray, the dream that's passed us by;
And do not think the one who's small, cannot be nobly borne,
Nor think the servant who is mute, may not announce the morn,
For what is done is not about perfection, rank, or trade;
But rather, it has all to do, with God, by whom we're made.

For He who authored infancy sees best around the bend
And knowing all, He rightly joins--the past, and now, and then.