He made the tree that formed the wood
He made the hill on which it stood
And in some hidden vein of land
He made the iron that pierced His hand...

-W.Mullan

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Make me Thy fuel by Amy C.

 

From prayer that asks that I may be

Sheltered from winds that beat on Thee,

From fearing when I should aspire,

From faltering when I should climb higher,

From silken self, O Captain free,

Thy soldier who would follow Thee.

 

From subtle love of softening things,

From easy choices, weakenings,

Not thus are spirits fortified,

Not this way went the crucified,

From all that dims Thy Calvary,

Oh Lamb of God, deliver me.

 

Give me the love that leads the way,

The faith nothing can dismay,

The hope no disappointments tire,

The passion that will burn like fire,

Let me not sink to be a clod;

Make me Thy fuel, Flame of God.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE THORN By M S Nicholson


I stood a mendicant of God
-before His royal throne
And begged him for one priceless gift,
-which I could call my own.
I took the gift from out His hand,
-but as I would depart
I cried, “But Lord this is a thorn
-and it has pierced my heart.
This is a strange, a hurtful gift,
-which Thou hast given me.”
He said, “My child, I give good gifts
-and gave My best to thee.”
I took it home and though at first
-the cruel thorn hurt sore,
As long years passed I learned at last
-to love it more and more.
I learned He never gives a thorn
-without this added grace,
He takes the thorn to pin aside
-the veil which hides His face.

 

(Note: a mendicant is one who begs or relies totally on charitable donations, and is most widely used for religious followers or ascetics who rely exclusively on charity from others to survive)

 

 

THE STAIRWAY

 

O long and dark the stairs I trod

With trembling feet to find my God
Gaining a foothold bit by bit;
Then slipping back and losing it.

 

Never progressing; striving still

With weakening grasp and faltering will,
Bleeding to climb to God while He
Serenely smiled, unnoting me.

 

Then came a certain time when I

Loosened my hold and fell thereby;
Down to the lowest step, my fall,
As if I had not climbed at all.

 

Now when I lay despairing there,
Listen.....a footfall.... on the stair....

On that same stair where I ... afraid,
Faltered and fell and lay dismayed,


And lo, when hope had ceased to be,
My God came down the stairs... to me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Homeless Stranger

 

A homeless stranger amonst us came

To this land of sin and mourning,
He walked in a path of sorrow and shame,
through insult and hate and scorning.

A Man of sorrows, of toil and tears,
An outcast Man—and a lonely;
But He looked on me, and through endless years
Him must I love, Him only.

Then from this sad and sorrowful land,
From this land of tears He departed,
But the light of His eyes and the touch of His hand
Had left me broken-hearted.

And I clave to Him as He turned my face
From the land that was mine no longer:
The land I had loved in the ancient days,
Ere I knew the love that was stronger.

And I would abide where He abode,
And follow His steps forever;
His people my people, His God my God,
In the land beyond the river.

And where He died would I also die;
Far dearer a grave beside Him,
Than a kingly place among living men—
The place which they... denied Him."

written by Wilmot Brooks soon before he left Britain; who in 1890 made a daring attempt to evangelize the Moslem Hausas of Nigeria, having given up brilliant worldly prospects at home. He died there in 1892.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO NATURES -believers

 

Two natures beat within my breast

The one is foul, the one is blessed

The one I love, the one I hate

The one I feed, will dominate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CRITICISM by a WEED

A little seed lay in the ground,
and soon began to sprout,
"Now which of all the flowers around,
" it mused, "will I come out?"

"The lily's face is fair and proud,
but just a trifle cold,
"The rose, I think, is rather loud,
and then its fashion's out."

"The violet is all very well,
but not a flower I'd choose,
Nor yet the Wild Bluebonnet,
I never cared for blues."

"And so it criticized each flower,
this supercilious seed,
Until it woke one summer hour
AND FOUND ITSELF A WEED!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The WEAVER


My life is but a weaving,
between my Lord and me,
I cannot choose the colors,
He worketh steadily.

Oft times He weaveth sorrow,
and I in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
and I, the underside.

Not ‘til the loom is silent,
and the shuttles cease to fly,
Shall God unroll the canvas,
and explain the reasons why;

The dark threads are as needful,
in the Weaver’s skillful hand,
as the threads of gold and silver,
in the pattern He has planned.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

EARTHEN VESSELS
The Master stood in His garden,
among the Lilly’s fair,
Which His own right hand had planted
and trained with tenderest care.

He looked at their snowy blossoms,
and marked with observant eye,
that His flowers were sad and drooping,
for their leaves were parched & dry.

'My Lily’s need to be watered,'
the heavenly Master said,
'Wherein shall I draw it for them,
and raise each drooping head?'

Close to His feet on the pathway,
empty & frail & small,
An earthen vessel was lying,
which seemed of no use at all.

But the Master saw and raised it,
from the dust in which it lay,
and smiled as He gently whispered,
'This shall do My work today.

It is but an earthen vessel,
but it lay so close to Me.
It is small, but it is empty,
that is all it needs to be.'

So to the fountain He took it,
and filled it to the brim.
How glad was the earthen vessel,
to be of some use to Him.

He poured forth the living waters,
over His Lily’s fair,
until the vessel was empty,
and again He filled it there.

He watered the drooping flowers,
until they revived again.
And the Master saw with pleasure
that His labor had not been vain.

His own hand had drawn the water,
which refreshed the thirsty flowers,
but He used the earthen vessel
to convey the living showers.

And to itself it whispered,
as He lay it aside once more,
'Still will I lie in His pathway,
just where I did before.

Close would I keep to the Master,
empty would I remain.
And perhaps someday He will use me,
to water His flowers again.'

2Cor 4:7 But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HIDING PLACE


Hail Sovereign love, which first began,
The scheme to rescue fallen man.
Hail matchless, free, eternal, grace,
which gave my soul a Hiding Place.

Against the God who built the sky,
I fought with hands uplifted high.
Despised the mention of His grace,
Secure….without…a Hiding Place.

Enwrapt in thick Egyptian night,
and fond of darkness more than light.
Madly I ran the sinful race.
Secure….without…a Hiding Place.

But thus the Eternal counsels, ran:
Almighty love, arrest that man!
I felt the arrows of distress,
and found I had no Hiding Place.

To Sinai’s fiery mount I flew,
Indignant justice stood in view.
But justice cried with frowning face,
This mountain is NO Hiding Place.

Ere long a heavenly voice I heard,
and mercy’s angel soon appeared.
He led me with a beaming face
to Jesus…as…my Hiding Place.

On Him, almighty justice fell,
that would have sunk the world to hell.
He bore it for a sinful race,
and thus became their Hiding Place.

Should sevenfold storms of thunder roll,
and shake this globe from pole to pole,
No thunderbolt shall daunt my face.
For Jesus is my Hiding Place.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MUST I ? -or-  MAY I?


"Must I wear it?" some ask with dread,
"This cloth, this cover, upon my head?"
As if the command were unkind to obey-
But I ask the question a different way...

If by this small act, I honor the Lord,
And model obedience unto His Word,
And the church may learn, as scripture has said,
the woman's submission to her glorious Head;

And thereby the brothers be challenged to lead,
and in this small sign the daughters may read,
a woman's true beauty. And angels discern,
and pause from their praises to wonder and learn...

Then I ask, not "Must I?" but "May I?"
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Circumstance

 

It was not planned this way,
This lowly task;
Its dread monotony
I did not  ask
Great things I meant to dare and do,
Numbered with the noble few,
Until I saw advance, with dreadful retinue
The force of Circumstance.

Twas not in all my sight;
This lonely room
Would bind my wing from flight.
Yet in the gloom,
As tho' to mock this weakened frame,
The mind with purpose is aflame,
And seeks for one on whom to blame
The fault of Circumstance.

It shall NOT conquer me,
This lurking foe;
I'll smite the enemy
With killing blow;
Yet as I rise to do or die,
I see his cohorts riding high,
Outweighed! O'er whelmed! too weak am I
To fight my Circumstance.

Oh, had I dove-like wing,
This lurid nest
I'd soar above, to sing
And be at rest;
But even as I think to flee,
I see the bonds that fasten me
To this impossibility,
No flight from Circumstance

Deep darkness chills the soul,
And lightnings scar
The heavens , and thunders roll,
No sun--no star,
The tempest steals my frightened cry,
Tremble to live, nor want to die,
"Eli lama Sabachthani"
I fear this Circumstance.

"Ah child, thou'rt ever Mine,
Belov'd alway,
The sun, the stars, still shine
Above the fray;
Thy darkness hideth not from Me,
My Spirit moves to comfort thee,
My priestly voice presents thy plea;
Have faith, in this, thy Circumstance."

(from Boy'd Nicholson's "The Watered Garden", Gospel Folio Press)  http://shop.gospelfolio.com/Watered-Garden-The-Hardcover/productinfo/B-WAG/#.UYLqoLUyziU



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Payment not Twice demanded


If Thou hast my discharge procured,
and freely in my place endured,
The whole of wrath divine,
Payment God will NOT TWICE demand,
First at my bleeding Savior's hand
And then... again... at mine...

from Augustus Toplady


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BEAUTIFUL SNOW

 

OH! THE SNOW, THE BEAUTIFUL SNOW,
Filling the sky and the earth below,
Over the housetops, over the street,
Over the heads of people you meet.
Dancing, flirting, skimming along,
Beautiful snow! It can do no wrong,
Flying to kiss a fair lady’s cheek,
Clinging to lips in frolicksome freak;
Beautiful snow from heaven above,
Pure as an angel, gentle as love!

Oh, the snow, the beautiful snow,
How the flakes gather and laugh as they go
Whirling about in maddening fun:
Chasing, laughing, hurrying by,
It lights on the face and it sparkles the eye;
And the dogs with a bark and a bound
Snap at the crystals as they eddy around;
The town is alive, and its heart is aglow,
To welcome the coming of beautiful snow!

How wild the crowd goes swaying along,
Hailing each other with humor and song;
How the gay sleighs like meteors flash by,
Bright for a moment, then lost to the eye:
Ringing, swinging, dashing they go,
Over the crest of the beautiful snow;
Snow so pure as it falls from the sky,
As to make one regret to see it lie,
To be trampled and tracked by thousands of feet
Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street.

ONCE I WAS PURE*  AS THE SNOW, BUT I FELL,

Fell like the snow flakes from heaven to hell;
Fell to be trampled as filth in the street,
Fell to be scoffed, to be spit on and beat;
Pleading, cursing, dreading to die,
Selling my soul to whoever would buy;

Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread,
Hating the living and fearing the dead.
MERCIFUL GOD! I HAVE FALLEN SO LOW!
AND YET I WAS ONCE LIKE THE BEAUTIFUL SNOW.

Once I was fair as the beautiful snow,
With an eye like a crystal, a heart like its glow;
Once I was loved for my innocent grace--
Flattered and sought for the charms of my face!
Fathers, Mothers, Sisters--all,
God and myself I have lost by my fall:
The veriest wretch that goes shivering by,
Will make a wide sweep lest I wander too nigh,

For all that is on or above me I know,
There is nothing so pure as the beautiful snow.

How strange it should be that this beautiful snow
Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go!
How strange it should be when the night comes again
If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain!
Fainting, freezing, dying, alone,
Too wicked for prayer, too weak for a moan
to be heard in the streets of the crazy town,
Gone mad in the joy of snow coming down:
To be and to die in my terrible woe,
With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow.

Helpless and foul as the trampled snow,
SINNER, DESPAIR NOT! CHRIST STOOPETH LOW
TO RESCUE THE SOUL THAT IS LOST IN SIN,
AND RAISE IT TO LIFE AND ENJOYMENT AGAIN.
Groaning, bleeding, dying--for thee,
The Crucified hung on the cursed tree!
His accents of mercy fall soft on thine ear,
"Is there mercy for me? Will he hear my weak prayer?"

O God, in the stream that for sinners did flow,
WASH ME, AND I SHALL BE WHITER THAN SNOW.

* -"once I was pure" - theologically this is incorrect, no one starts out as pure and

then becomes impure,... though one can descend further into impurity. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WHAT THEN


When all the great plants of our cities
Have turned out their last finished work;
When our merchants have made their last bargain
And dismissed the last tired clerk.
When our banks have raked in the last dollar
And have paid out the last dividend;
When the Judge of the earth says, "Close for the night,"
And asks for a balance -

 

What then?

When the choir has sung its last anthem,
And the preacher has said his last prayer,
When the people have heard their last sermon
And the sound has died out on the air;
When the Bible lies closed on the pulpit,
And the pews are all empty of men,
When each one stands facing his record -
And the great book is opened -

 

What then?

 

When the actors have played their last drama
And the mimic has made his last Pun;
When the movies have flashed the last picture,
And the billboard displayed its last run.
When the crowds seeking pleasure have vanished
And have gone into darkness again -
And the world that rejected its Saviour,
Is asked for a reason -

 

What then?

 

When the bugle’s last call sinks in silence,
And the long marching columns stand still;
When the captain has given his last orders,
And they’ve captured the last fort and hill,
When the flag has been hauled from the masthead,
And the wounded afield have checked in,
When the trumpet of ages is sounded -
And we stand up before Him -

 

What then?

 

When your life friend has run to a finish,
And the last you can do is then done;
When your work here on earth is all ended,
And eternity’s issues begun.
As you think of how long God has pleaded,
Of how Christ bore your sins on the tree;
And your soul stands there naked before Him,
And the Father denies you -

 

What then?

 

Borrowed from: http://www.scripturaltruths.org/

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ISN'T "NO" AN ANSWER?  (Amy Carmichael)

 

Just a tiny little child
...Three years old.
And a mother with a heart,
...All of Gold.

 

Often did that mother say
Jesus hears us when we pray,
For He's never far away
...And He always answers.

 

Now, that tiny little child
...Had brown eyes,
And she wanted blue instead
...Like blue skies.

 

For her mother's eyes were blue
Like forget-me-nots. She knew
All her mother said was true,
...Jesus always answered.

 

So she prayed for two blue eyes,

...Said "Good night."
Went to sleep in deep content
...And delight.

 

Woke up early, climbed a chair
By a mirror, Where oh where
Could the blue eyes be? Not there;
...Jesus hadn't answered.

 

Hadn't answered her at all;
...Never more
Could she pray; her eyes were brown
...As before.

 

Did a little soft wind blow?
Came a whisper soft and low,
"Jesus answered, He said 'no.'
...Isn't "no" an answer?"

 

(post script:  Amy became involved in child rescue in India-girls from temple prostitution, and her brown eyes became essential as she sometimes donned some dye to her skin to make her look Indian & enable her to work quietly in dangerous circles, and blue eyes would have given her away, now wouldn't they?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THERE IS

 

There is a time, we know not when —
A place, we know not where—
That seals the destiny of men
For glory or despair.

 

There is a line, by us unseen,
Which crosses every path,
The hidden boundary between
God's mercy and His wrath.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

- Ter Steegen -

Thou sayest, Fit me, fashion me for Thee,

   Stretch forth thine empty hands, and be thou still;

O restless soul thou dost but hinder Me

  By valiant purpose and by steadfast will.

Behold the summer flowers beneath the sun,

  In stillness His great glory they behold.

And sweetly thus His might word is done,

   And resting in His gladness they unfold,

So are the sweetness and the joy Divine

   Thine, o beloved, and the work is Mine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Water he once threw away

 

The following lines were suggested by a description of the effects οf thirst told to the writer (TJ) by the venerable African Missionary, Robert Moffat.

 

The African desert or wilderness roaming,

Pursuing his journey, the traveler goes;
He sees not a torrent all gushing and foaming,
But crosses a region where no river flows.
Himself and companions, all weary and thirsty,
No shelter protects from the sun's scorching ray -
The fountain still distant and calabash empty,

He thinks of the water he once threw away.

 

The African village surprised and surrounded,
The terrified people endeavor to flee;
Their every intention is crossed and confounded,
The slave-hunter takes them his captives to be.
The rope round his neck, and his hands tied behind him,
The slave 'neath the whip, as he goes on his way,
In vain sighs for succor which cannot now find him,

And thinks of the water he once threw away.

 

Outstretched on the field where the foeman has laid him,

With saber or bullet or splinter of shell;
The soldier, a victim which one moment made him,

In torture and anguish now lies where he fell.
The faintness and stupor the bleeding brought o'er him,
The smart of his wounds quickly chaseth away,
And thirsting intensely, no succor before him,
He thinks of the water he once threw away.
 

A river is flowing of pure living water,
It comes from the temple of God and the Lamb;
The invite is issued to every quarter,
For all who are thirsty; who hears should proclaim:
Who drinketh shall live and be saved forever,
Who hears and neglects it draws near to the day,
When careless and scorners, where hope cometh never,
Shall think of the water they once threw away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Christ

"'What think ye of Christ?' is the test
To try both your state and your scheme;
You cannot be right in the rest
Unless you think rightly of HIM."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tomorrow:

 

I have nothing to do with tomorrow,

  My Savior will make that His care.

Should He fill it with trouble and sorrow,

  He will help me to suffer and bear.

I have nothing to do with tomorrow,

  Its burdens, then, why should I share,

Its strength and its grace I can't borrow,

  Then why should I borrow its care?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Law/Gospel

 

"DO THIS' and live, 

the law commands.

But gives me neither feet nor hands.

Better news the gospel brings

It bids me "FLY" 

and gives me wings.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Is there no other way?

Is there no other way, oh God,

Except through sorrow, and pain, and loss,

To stamp Christ's likeness on my soul-

No other way except the cross?

 

And then a voice stills all my soul,

As stilled the waves of Galilee;

Canst thou not bear the furnace heat,

If mid the flames I walk with thee?

 

I bore the cross, I know its weight,

I drank the cup I hold for thee;

Canst thou not follow where I lead?

I'll give thee strength- lean hard on me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FIVE MINUTES AFTER I DIE

 

Loved ones will weep o’er my silent face,
Dear ones will clasp me in sad embrace,
Shadows and darkness will fill the place,
Five minutes after I die.

 

Faces that sorrow I will not see,
Voices that murmur will not reach me,
But where, oh, where will my spirit be,
Five minutes after I die.

 

Quickly the years of my life have flown,
Gathering treasures I thought my own,
There I must reap from the seed I have sown
Five minutes after I die.

 

Naught to repair the good I lack,
Fixed to the goal of my chosen track,
No room to repent, no turning back,
Five minutes after I die.

 

Now I can stifle convictions stirred,
Now I can silence the Voice oft heard,
Then the fulfillment of God’s sure Word,
Five minutes after I die.

 

Mated for aye with my chosen throng,
Long is eternity, O, so long,
Then woe is me if my soul be wrong,
Five minutes after I die.

 

O, what a fool- hard the word, but true,
Passing the Savior with death in view,
Doing a deed I can ne’er undo
Five minutes after I die.

 

If I am flinging a fortune away,
If I am wasting salvation’s day
“Just is my sentence”, my soul shall say
Five minutes after I die.

 

God help you repent! Your eternal state
Depends on your choice, you dare not wait;
You must come now; it will be too late
Five minutes after you die.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

JUSTIFICATION

 

God's sovereign grace invited me,

To have in heaven a place,

Twas the good pleasure of His will,

I'm justified by Grace.

 

In due time Christ in Calvary died,

there flowed that crimson flood,

which makes the foulest white as snow,

I'm justified by blood.

 

God raised Him up, this is the pledge,

should evil doubtings lower,

His resurrection quells each fear,

I'm justified by power.

 

The Holy Spirit guided me,

to what the scripture saith,

I grasped the truth, Christ died for me

I'm justified by faith.

 

Now if you doubt that I am Christ's

If one suspicion lurks,

I'll show by deed that I am His,

I'm justified by works.

 

I praise the Lord, its all of Him

The grace, the faith, the blood,

The resurrection power, the works;

I'm justified by God.

 

(from William MacDonald's Here's the Difference) by HH Shaw.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE WILDERNESS

"They came to the gates of Canaan,

But they never entered in.

They came to the land of promise,

But they perished in their sin.
And so we are ever coming,

To the place where two ways part:
One leads to the land of promise,

And one to a hardened heart".

ABSimpson

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Christ in the grain offering - from Remembrance hymns / Leviticus 2

 

In smooth and silken whiteness, without a spot or stain.
In clear unbroken brightness, without a roughening grain.
The fine flour in its beauty, The perfect man portrays.
In all His path of duty, In all His Heavenly ways.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jehovah Tsidkenu
"The Lord Our Righteousness" by McCheyne

The watchword of the Reformers—

I once was a stranger to grace and to God,
I knew not my danger, and felt not my load;
Though friends spoke in rapture of Christ on the tree,
Jehovah Tsidkenu was nothing to me.

I oft read with pleasure, to soothe or engage,
Isaiah's wild measure and John's simple page;
But e'en when they pictured the blood-sprinkled tree
Jehovah Tsidkenu seemed nothing to me.

Like tears from the daughters of Zion that roll,
I wept when the waters went over His soul;
Yet thought not that my sins had nailed to the tree
Jehovah Tsidkenu—'twas nothing to me.

When free grace awoke me, by light from on high,
Then legal fears shook me, I trembled to die;
No refuge, no safety in self could I see—
Jehovah Tsidkenu my Savior must be.

My terrors all vanished before the sweet name;
My guilty fears banished, with boldness I came
To drink at the fountain, life-giving and free—
Jehovah Tsidkenu is all things to me.

Jehovah Tsidkenu! my treasure and boast,
Jehovah Tsidkenu! I ne'er can be lost;
In thee I shall conquer by flood and by field—
My cable, my anchor, my breastplate and shield!

Even treading the valley, the shadow of death,
This "watchword" shall rally my faltering breath;
For while from life's fever my God sets me free,
Jehovah Tsidkenu my death-song shall be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In a cemetery in England:
Remember man, as you walk by,
As you are now, so once was I.
As I am now, so shall you be,
Remember this and follow me.


To which someone replied by writing on the tombstone:
To follow you I'll not consent,
Until I know which way you went.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tho' the cause of evil prosper,
Yet the truth alone is strong;
Tho' her portion be the scaffold,
And upon the throne be wrong;
Yet that scaffold sways the future,
And, behind the dim unknown,
Standeth God within the shadows,
Keeping watch above His own.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

pictures by KAT or GG