Take it All

burden

Take it all, Lord, far from me

My life I entrust to You

I will serve, Lord, faithfully

In all You would have me do

There’s just one thing I’ll keep back

And the rest is Yours, I swear

For there’s one thing I still lack

And it’s hard for me to bear

I’m sorry, Father, for my sin

I will try to clean this mess

I cannot, Father, let You in

Until my heart’s looking its best

Thank You, my King, for giving

Me a love so pure and true

And now, my King, I’m living

To seek it ev’rywhere but You

Take it all, Lord, far from me

What is best for me You know

I will give, Lord, willingly

All the nothing I’ve let go.

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Friday Poem: The Author

Quill Pen

As the author picked up his pen,
A thought ran through his head:
“How will they remember me when
My life’s spent and I’m dead?
Will they read the books I’ve written
And mourn the loss to art?
Will they say, ‘With work was he smitten;
Too bad he had no heart.’?
When they reflect back, will they smile
At each witty anecdote?
Or will they put my works on trial
And condemn all I wrote?
I trust the small things I do will tell
My love for people then,
And hope to be remembered well
When I set down this pen.

I Was Right

A few years ago, shortly after enjoying the best God time of my life, I wrote a poem about forgiveness. I was struggling with literally dozens of grudges then, and writing this was the first step in the process of letting those go.

“I was right!” I shouted,
Alas to no avail.
The night dark and unclouded
The moon, still smiling, pale.
“Answer me if You’re there!
Or have You gone away?
They were wrong! It’s not fair!
Do You hear me when I pray?”
Softly rustled the leaves
And as I turned I spied,
As though between two thieves,
A flanked tree with branches wide.
“I was right then as well,
More than you’ll ever be,
But love saves more from hell
Than right or law or creed.
They were wrong, it is true,
But does that matter now?
Life became unfair for you
When blood dripped from my brow.”
“I was wrong,” I gently wept,
The pale moon smiling still.
Then heard as in the clouds crept,
“That doesn’t matter, either.”