The Ten Lepers
’Neath the olives of Samaria, in far-famed Galilee,
Where dark green vines are mirrored in a placid silver sea,
’Mid scenes of tranquil beauty, glowing sun-sets, rosy dawn,
The Master and disciples to the city journeyed on.
And, as they neared a valley where a sheltered hamlet lay,
A strange, portentous wailing made them pause upon their way—
Voices fraught with anguish, telling of aching heart and brow,
Which kept moaning: “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us now!”
Softly raised the gentle Saviour His eyes like midnight star,
And His mournful gaze soon rested on ten lepers, who, afar,
Stood motionless and suppliant, in sackcloth rudely clothed,
Poor Pariahs! by their nearest, their dearest, shunned and loathed.
Not unto Him prayed vainly those sore afflicted ten,
No! He yearned too fondly over the erring sons of men,
Even sharing in their sorrows, though He joined not in their feasts,—
So He kindly told the Lepers: “Show yourselves unto the priests.”
When, miracle of mercy! as they turned them to obey,
And towards the Holy Temple quickly took their hopeful way,
Lo! the hideous scales fell off them, health’s fountains were unsealed,
Their skin grew soft as infant’s—their leprosy was healed.
O man! so oft an ingrate, to thy thankless nature true,
Thyself see in those Lepers, who did as thou dost do;
Nine went their way rejoicing, healed in body—glad in soul—
Nor once thought of returning thanks to Him who made them whole.
One only, a Samaritan, a stranger to God’s word,
Felt his joyous, panting bosom, with gratitude deep stirred,
And without delay he hastened, in the dust, at Jesus’ feet,
To cast himself in worship, in thanksgiving, warm and meet.
Slowly questioned him the Saviour, with majesty divine:—
“Ten were cleansed from their leprosy—where are the other nine?
Is there none but this one stranger—unlearned in Gods ways,
His name and mighty power, to give word of thanks or praise?”
The sunbeams’ quivering glories softly touched that God-like head,
The olives blooming round Him sweet shade and fragrance shed,
While o’er His sacred features a tender sadness stole:
“Rise, go thy way,” He murmured, “thy faith hath made thee whole!”
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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The Blind Man Of Jericho
He sat by the dusty way-side,
With weary, hopeless mien,
On his furrowed brow the traces
Of care and want were seen;
With outstretched hand and with bowed-down head
He asked the passers-by for bread.
The palm-tree’s feathery foliage
Around him thickly grew,
And the smiling sky above him
Wore Syria’s sun-bright hue;
But dark alike to that helpless one
Was murky midnight or noon-tide sun.
But voices breaking the silence
Are heard, fast drawing nigh,
And falls on his ear the clamor
Of vast crowds moving by:
“What is it?” he asks, with panting breath;
They answer: “Jesus of Nazareth.”
What a spell lay in that title,
Linked with such mem’ries high
Of miracles of mercy,
Wrought ’neath Judaea’s sky!
Loud calls he, with pleading voice and brow,
“Oh! Jesus, on me have mercy now!”
How often had he listened
To wond’rous tales of love—
Of the Galilean’s mercy,
Of power from above,
To none other given of mortal birth
To heal the afflicted sons of earth.
With faith that never wavered
Still louder rose his cry,
Despite the stern rebuking
Of many standing nigh,
Who bade him stifle his grief or joy,
Nor “the Master rudely thus annoy.”
But, soon that voice imploring
Struck on the Saviour’s ear,
He stopped, and to His followers
He said “Go bring him here!”
And, turning towards him that God like brow,
He asked the suppliant, “What wouldest thou?”
Though with awe and hope all trembling,
Yet courage gaineth he,
And imploringly he murmurs:
“Oh Lord! I fain would see!”
The Saviour says in accents low:
“Thy faith hath saved thee—be it so!”
Then on those darkened eye-balls
A wondrous radiance beamed,
And they drank in the glorious beauty
That through all nature gleamed;
But the fairest sight they rested on
Was the Saviour, David’s royal Son.
O rapture past all telling!
The bliss that vision brought!
Could a whole life’s praises thank Him
For the wonder He had wrought?
Yet is Jesus the same to-day as then,
Bringing light and joy to the souls of men.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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Today... 'The Coming One
Look we for another or are You the One?
The long promised Saviour and God's Only Son
Prophesied since the dawn of earths history
Truly God manifest in the flesh is He
He is the One Who is and Who was to come
The forerunner of the heavenly kingdom
Such knowledge does not come by inspiration
But by the Holy Spirit's revelation
Look no further for the Coming One has Come
And has established His heavenly kingdom
Look closely at those things that John had been told
And there Your Lord and Your God you will behold
The lame are walking and the blind men can see
And the lepers are healed from their leprosy
The dead have been raised and the deaf hear once more
And the good news is being preached to the poor
For when we have ears to hear and eyes to see
Enlightened minds to understand prophesy
Then as we consider what was said to John
We can see that Jesus is the Coming One
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Jerusalem, Jerusalem How Glad
Jerusalem, Jerusalem how glad
am I in prayer to have stood;
in thee blessed city at remains
of thy second temple’s walls.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem Oh how glad
am I sacred Via Dolorosa walked;
in remembrance atonement passed
stations of The Cross to have passed.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem Oh how glad
am I who before entering sacred;
Garden of Gethsemane to view aged
olive trees was cast down humbled.
For Jesus in agony fear here sweated
blood in prayer to heaven to father God;
when last among these olives he stood
thus rejoice all bowed before our Lord.
In pilgrimage to Calvary where our Lord
for my sins humanities Christ was Crucified;
where a group of witnesses Marys stood
bewailing in heart soul worship as we should.
This most Holy City Jerusalem City of our God
site of our Saviour’s Cross where our Saviour trod;
Almighty God this is thy most sacred Holy City still
at Messiah’s return here raise holy men at thy will.
The Via Dolorosa (Latin for Way of Grief or Way of Suffering) is the sacred two part street, within the Old City of Jerusalem; where Jesus walked carrying the cross, on the way to his crucifixion.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Leper
Oft as the leper's case I read,
My own described I feel;
Sin is a leprosy indeed,
Which none but Christ can heal.
Awhile I would have passed for well,
And strove my spots to hide;
Till it broke out incurable,
Too plain to be denied.
Then from the saints I sought to flee,
And dreaded to be seen;
I thought they all would point at me,
And cry, Unclean, unclean!
What anguish did my soul endure,
Till hope and patience ceased?
The more I strove myself to cure,
The more the plague increased.
While thus I lay distressed, I saw
The Savior passing by;
To him, though filled with shame and awe,
I raised my mournful cry.
Lord, thou canst heal me if thou wilt,
For thou canst all things do;
O cleanse my leprous soul from guilt,
My filthy heart renew!
He heard, and with a gracious look,
Pronounced the healing word;
I will, be clean - and while he spoke
I felt my health restored.
Come lepers, seize the present hour,
The Saviour's grace to prove;
He can relieve, for he is pow'r,
He will, for he is love.
poem by John Newton
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Psalm 86
v.8-13
C. M.
A general song of praise to God.
Among the princes, earthly gods,
There's none hath power divine;
Nor is their nature, mighty Lord,
Nor are their works, like thine.
The nations thou hast made shall bring
Their off'rings round thy throne;
For thou alone dost wondrous things,
For thou art God alone.
Lord, I would walk with holy feet;
Teach me thine heav'nly ways,
And my poor scattered thoughts unite
In God my Father's praise.
Great is thy mercy, and my tongue
Shall those sweet wonders tell,
How by thy grace my sinking soul
Rose from the deeps of hell.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Blind Bartimaeus
He would not let Jesus pass him by.
Called out to the Saviour with a loud cry.
It was his last chance to be made whole.
For blind from birth was this poor soul.
The crowd rebuked him to keep silent
but he cried out the more for he was intent
not to miss the Lord and let him pass by.
'Have mercy on me' was his loud cry.
Jesus stopped and bid them bring the man.
And jumping to his feet to Jesus he ran.
The Lord then said 'What do you want of me? '
'Rabbi', Bartimaeus said, 'I want to see.'
Immediately Jesus restored his sight
for he had faith that Jesus would put it right.
Then following Jesus along the way
his life had been miraculously changed that day.
As Bartimaeus we too have been born blind
and need like him the Saviour to find.
To cry 'Son of David have mercy on me.
Open my eyes, Lord, I want to see.'
It is at the cross that all can see
the extent of God's love for you and me.
And say to Jesus, 'Saviour hear my cry
while You touch others do not pass me by.'
Based on Mark 10: 46-52
* Spiritually blind
The Scene Around me Disappears
1. The scene around me disappears,
And, borne to ancient regions,
While time recalls the flight of years,
I see angelic legions
Descending in an orb of light:
Amidst the dark and silent night
I hear celestial voices.
2. Tidings, glad tidings from above,
To every age and nation!
Tidings, glad tidings! God is Love,
To man He sends salvation!
His Son beloved, His only Son,
The work of mercy hath begun;
Give to His Name the Glory!
3. Through David's city I am led;
Here all around are sleeping;
A Light directs to yon poor shed;
There lonely watch is keeping:
I enter; ah! what glories shine!
Is this Immanuel's earthly shrine,
Messiah's infant Temple?
4. It is, it is; and I adore
This Stranger meek and lowly,
As saints and angels bow before
The throne of God thrice Holy!
Faith through the veil of flesh can see
The Face of Thy Divinity,
My Lord, my God, my Saviour!
poem by James Montgomery
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O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing
O for a thousand tongues to sing
My great Redeemer's praise,
The glories of my God and King,
The triumphs of his grace!
My gracious Master and my God,
Assist me to proclaim,
To spread through all the earth abroad
The honours of thy name.
Jesus! the name that charms our fears,
That bids our sorrows cease;
'Tis music in the sinner's ears,
'Tis life, and health, and peace.
He breaks the power of cancelled sin,
He sets the prisoner free;
His blood can make the foulest clean,
His blood availed for me.
He speaks, and, listening to his voice,
New life the dead receive,
The mournful, broken hearts rejoice,
The humble poor believe.
Hear him, ye deaf; his praise, ye dumb,
Your loosened tongues employ;
Ye blind, behold your Saviour come,
And leap, ye lame, for joy.
Look unto him, ye nations, own
Your God, ye fallen race;
Look, and be saved through faith alone,
Be justified by grace.
See all your sins on Jesus laid:
The Lamb of God was slain,
His soul was once an offering made
For every soul of man.
Awake from guilty nature's sleep,
And Christ shall give you light,
Cast all your sins into the deep,
And wash the Æthiop white.
With me, your chief, ye then shall know,
Shall feel your sins forgiven;
Anticipate your heaven below,
And own that love is heaven.
poem by Charles Wesley
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Hymn I: O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing
O for a thousand tongues to sing
My great Redeemer's praise,
The glories of my God and King,
The triumphs of his grace!
My gracious Master and my God,
Assist me to proclaim,
To spread through all the earth abroad
The honours of thy name.
Jesus! the name that charms our fears,
That bids our sorrows cease;
'Tis music in the sinner's ears,
'Tis life, and health, and peace.
He breaks the power of cancelled sin,
He sets the prisoner free;
His blood can make the foulest clean,
His blood availed for me.
He speaks, and, listening to his voice,
New life the dead receive,
The mournful, broken hearts rejoice,
The humble poor believe.
Hear him, ye deaf; his praise, ye dumb,
Your loosened tongues employ;
Ye blind, behold your Saviour come,
And leap, ye lame, for joy.
Look unto him, ye nations, own
Your God, ye fallen race;
Look, and be saved through faith alone,
Be justified by grace.
See all your sins on Jesus laid:
The Lamb of God was slain,
His soul was once an offering made
For every soul of man.
Awake from guilty nature's sleep,
And Christ shall give you light,
Cast all your sins into the deep,
And wash the Æthiop white.
With me, your chief, ye then shall know,
Shall feel your sins forgiven;
Anticipate your heaven below,
And own that love is heaven.
poem by John Wesley
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The Might Of The Messiah!
From Heaven's glory Jesus went
To save the world below
And fulfilling each commandment
Meant holy blood must flow...
As Jesus prayed that He be spared,
God's angel strengthened Him,
Such that He stood, no longer scared,
With faith filled to the brim!
The greatest story ever told
Was of the King of Kings,
As Jesus shed His blood like gold,
Behold how His back stings...
While still alive, His body torn,
A crown of thorns above,
They mocked the Saviour so forlorn,
With scorn instead of love...
Behold the Man! The crowd was cruel,
His kingship tattered now,
Such that their wisdom thought Him fool,
Not worthy of a bow...
Yet Jesus knew what lay ahead
And prophesied as much,
To say that He, when He was dead,
Would rise... and stay in touch...
The soldiers guarded in the gloom,
Where Jesus' shroud was laid,
They slept as God moved rock from tomb...
The news made folks afraid!
Disciples met the Saviour soon,
Thus Thomas praised the Lord,
When forced to sing another tune
That must not be ignored...
The might of the Messiah lives!
The Holy Spirit's gift
Is granted as the Lord forgives,
When true faith heals the rift...
That's why the Holy Bible's read
By billions here on Earth,
For what's in store and dead ahead
As Israel proves his worth...
The time shall come when Christ returns,
The whole wide world to own
And that's what every student learns
Who seeks what God has shown...
The world made new, no idle boast,
Yet Jesus, make things right!
Return with God's angelic host
With power and with might!
---
We can hear the word of the Lord on
Revelation TV on UK Sky Digital 581
as well as the WATCH NOW link on
the revelationtv-dot-com website...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Monday Before Easter
"Father to me thou art and mother dear,
And brother too, kind husband of my heart -
So speaks Andromache in boding fear,
Ere from her last embrace her hero part -
So evermore, by Faith's undying glow,
We own the Crucified in weal or woe.
Strange to our ears the church-bells of our home,
This fragrance of our old paternal fields
May be forgotten; and the time may come
When the babe's kiss no sense of pleasure yields
E'en to the doting mother: but Thine own
Thou never canst forget, nor leave alone.
There are who sigh that no fond heart is theirs,
None loves them best--O vain and selfish sigh!
Out of the bosom of His love He spares -
The Father spares the Son, for thee to die:
For thee He died--for thee He lives again:
O'er thee He watches in His boundless reign.
Thou art as much His care, as if beside
Nor man nor angel lived in Heaven or earth:
Thus sunbeams pour alike their glorious tide
To light up worlds, or wake an insect's mirth:
They shine and shine with unexhausted store -
Thou art thy Saviour's darling--seek no more.
On thee and thine, thy warfare and thine end,
E'en in His hour of agony He thought,
When, ere the final pang His soul should rend,
The ransomed spirits one by one were brought
To His mind's eye--two silent nights and days
In calmness for His far-seen hour He stays.
Ye vaulted cells, where martyred seers of old
Far in the rocky walls of Sion sleep,
Green terraces and arched fountains cold,
Where lies the cypress shade so still and deep,
Dear sacred haunts of glory and of woe,
Help us, one hour, to trace His musings high and low:
One heart-ennobling hour! It may not be:
The unearthly thoughts have passed from earth away,
And fast as evening sunbeams from the sea
Thy footsteps all in Sion's deep decay
Were blotted from the holy ground: yet dear
Is every stone of hers; for Thou want surely here.
There is a spot within this sacred dale
That felt Thee kneeling--touched Thy prostrate brow:
One Angel knows it. O might prayer avail
To win that knowledge! sure each holy vow
Less quickly from the unstable soul would fade,
Offered where Christ in agony was laid.
Might tear of ours once mingle with the blood
That from His aching brow by moonlight fell,
Over the mournful joy our thoughts would brood,
Till they had framed within a guardian spell
To chase repining fancies, as they rise,
Like birds of evil wing, to mar our sacrifice.
So dreams the heart self-flattering, fondly dreams; -
Else wherefore, when the bitter waves o'erflow,
Miss we the light, Gethsemane, that streams
From thy dear name, where in His page of woe
It shines, a pale kind star in winter's sky?
Who vainly reads it there, in vain had seen Him die.
poem by John Keble
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The Annunciation Of The Blessed Virgin
Oh! Thou who deign'st to sympathise
With all our frail and fleshly ties,
Maker yet Brother dear,
Forgive the too presumptuous thought,
If, calming wayward grief, I sought
To gaze on Thee too near.
Yet sure 'twas not presumption, Lord,
'Twas Thine own comfortable word
That made the lesson known:
Of all the dearest bonds we prove,
Thou countest sons and mothers' love
Most sacred, most Thine own.
When wandering here a little span,
Thou took'st on Thee to rescue man,
Thou had'st no earthly sire:
That wedded love we prize so dear,
As if our heaven and home were here,
It lit in Thee no fire.
On no sweet sister's faithful breast
Wouldst Thou Thine aching forehead rest,
On no kind brother lean:
But who, O perfect filial heart,
E'er did like Thee a true son's part,
Endearing, firm, serene?
Thou wept'st, meek maiden, mother mild,
Thou wept'st upon thy sinless Child,
Thy very heart was riven:
And yet, what mourning matron here
Would deem thy sorrows bought too dear
By all on this side Heaven?
A Son that never did amiss,
That never shamed His Mother's kiss,
Nor crossed her fondest prayer:
E'en from the tree He deigned to bow,
For her His agonised brow,
Her, His sole earthly care.
Ave Maria! blessed Maid!
Lily of Eden's fragrant shade,
Who can express the love
That nurtured thee so pure and sweet,
Making thy heart a shelter meet
For Jesus' holy dove?
Ave Maria! Mother blest,
To whom, caressing and caressed,
Clings the eternal Child;
Favoured beyond Archangels' dream,
When first on Thee with tenderest gleam
Thy new-born Saviour smiled:-
Ave Maria! thou whose name
All but adoring love may claim,
Yet may we reach thy shrine;
For He, thy Son and Saviour, vows
To crown all lowly lofty brows
With love and joy like thine.
Blessed is the womb that bare Him--blessed
The bosom where His lips were pressed,
But rather blessed are they
Who hear His word and keep it well,
The living homes where Christ shall dwell,
And never pass away.
poem by John Keble
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A Phoenician Woman Of Faith
your praying every single time
your heart is moved to take in
a stray dog or cat; I remember
a Phoenician woman who cried
out to the Lord, son of David;
because her daughter was badly
demonized; Jesus said to his disciples
“I was not sent forth to any but
to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”
When the woman made obeisance
saying “Lord, help me! ” In answer
Jesus said “It is not right to take the bread
of the children and throw it to little dogs.”
With a mother’s love praying for her
daughter the Phoenician woman replied
“Yes Lord, but even the dogs do eat
of the crumbs falling from their master’s
table.” Jesus replied “Oh woman, great
is your faith; let it happen to you
as you wish.” In faith her daughter
was healed from that hour on. Thus Matthew 15: 21-28.
every time we give more than
we have to give we emulate Jesus
who gave to a faithful Phoenician
woman although she was not
a lost sheep of the house of Israel
she received in faith her daughter
healed just like similar faith encounter
a Roman centurion from Capernaum
who believed from a distance Jesus
could heal because he had authority
and in faith the manservant was healed Matthew 8: 5-13.
God gives authority as God has chosen
Jesus cared even when his disciples
thought Jesus should not it was Jesus
who miracle feed hungry five thousand
every time Jesus cared when others
thought Jesus should not to Father God
Jesus was praying as every single time
we care when others think we should not
we are also praying as my own father
was often praying when others knew it not
Inspired by the poem ‘You’re Praying’ by Eric Cockrell.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Humbled And Silenced By Mercy
Once perishing in blood I lay,
Creatures no help could give,
But Jesus passed me in the way,
He saw, and bid me live.
Though Satan still his rule maintained,
And all his arts employed;
That mighty Word his rage restrained,
I could not be destroyed.
At length the time of love arrived
When I my Lord should know,
Then Satan, of his pow'r deprived,
Was forced to let me go.
O can I e'er that day forget
When Jesus kindly spoke!
Poor soul, my blood has paid thy debt,
And now I break thy yoke.
Henceforth I take thee for my own,
And give myself to thee;
Forsake the idols thou hast known,
And yield thyself to me.
Ah, worthless heart! it promised fair,
And said it would be thine;
I little thought it e'er would dare
Again with idols join.
Lord, dost thou such backslidings heal,
And pardon all that's past?
Sure, if I am not made of steel,
Thou hast prevailed at last.
My tongue, which rashly spoke before,
This mercy will restrain;
Surely I now shall boast no more,
Nor censure, nor complain.
poem by John Newton
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St. Thomas' Day
We were not by when Jesus came,
But round us, far and near,
We see His trophies, and His name
In choral echoes hear.
In a fair ground our lot is cast,
As in the solemn week that past,
While some might doubt, but all adored,
Ere the whole widowed Church had seen her risen Lord.
Slowly, as then, His bounteous hand
The golden chain unwinds,
Drawing to Heaven with gentlest band
Wise hearts and loving minds.
Love sought Him first--at dawn of morn
From her sad couch she sprang forlorn,
She sought to weep with Thee alone,
And saw Thine open grave, and knew that thou wert gone.
Reason and Faith at once set out
To search the SAVIOUR'S tomb;
Faith faster runs, but waits without,
As fearing to presume,
Till Reason enter in, and trace
Christ's relics round the holy place -
"Here lay His limbs, and here His sacred head,
And who was by, to make His new-forsaken bed?"
Both wonder, one believes--but while
They muse on all at home,
No thought can tender Love beguile
From Jesus' grave to roam.
Weeping she stays till He appear -
Her witness first the Church must hear -
All joy to souls that can rejoice
With her at earliest call of His dear gracious voice.
Joy too to those, who love to talk
In secret how He died,
Though with sealed eyes awhile they walk,
Nor see him at their side:
Most like the faithful pair are they,
Who once to Emmaus took their way,
Half darkling, till their Master shied
His glory on their souls, made known in breaking bread.
Thus, ever brighter and more bright,
On those He came to save
The Lord of new-created light
Dawned gradual from the grave;
Till passed th' enquiring day-light hour,
And with closed door in silent bower
The Church in anxious musing sate,
As one who for redemption still had long to wait.
Then, gliding through th' unopening door,
Smooth without step or sound,
"Peace to your souls," He said--no more -
They own Him, kneeling round.
Eye, ear, and hand, and loving heart,
Body and soul in every part,
Successive made His witnesses that hour,
Cease not in all the world to show His saving power.
Is there, on earth, a spirit frail,
Who fears to take their word,
Scarce daring, through the twilight pale,
To think he sees the Lord?
With eyes too tremblingly awake
To bear with dimness for His sake?
Read and confess the Hand Divine
That drew thy likeness here so true in every line.
For all thy rankling doubts so sore,
Love thou thy Saviour still,
Him for thy Lord and God adore,
And ever do His will.
Though vexing thoughts may seem to last,
Let not thy soul be quite o'ercast; -
Soon will He show thee all His wounds, and say,
"Long have I known Thy name--know thou My face alway."
poem by John Keble
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Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. Matthew (Chapter 20)
Heaven is like a landowner,
Who left by dawn from his vineyard,
To hire laborers to work;
He fixed their daily wages and
And made them work in his vine-land.
He met others at nine o’clock,
In market-place, standing idle;
He promised to pay what was just,
And send them off to his vineyard.
He left again at noon likewise,
And around three o’clock also;
At five o’clock, he found some more,
And asked them why they stood idle.
They told him none had hired them;
He sent them to vineyard to work.
When evening came, the owner told
His foreman to summon workers;
He ordered him to pay them all,
Starting from last, ending with first.
The ones who came by five o’clock,
Received their daily wages first;
But when the first ones came at last,
They thought they would receive extra;
They got just wages as spoken,
And grumbled at the landowner.
They said, ‘For one hour’s work, the last
Were paid equal to us although
We bore the day’s burden and heat.’
The landowner then said to one,
‘Do you feel I have cheated you?
Didn’t you agree on what I spoke?
Take what is yours and kindly leave.
What if I pay the last as you? ’
‘Am I not free to keep my word
And pay my money as I wish?
Do you envy my kind nature? ’
‘Therefore the last shall become first,
And first shall become last also.’
To Jerusalem, Jesus went
And told his twelve disciples there,
‘Behold, the Son of Man shall be
Soon handed o’er to chief priests, scribes;
And they will condemn Him to death;
And hand Him to the Gentiles then,
For being mocked and scourged before,
They crucify Him upon cross;
But He’ll be raised on the third day! ’
Zebedee’s mother with her sons,
Paid homage and wished for something;
Then Jesus asked, ‘What do you wish?
She answered Him, ‘Command my sons
Are made to sit with you along,
One at your right, other at left,
In your kingdom, when it happens.’
Jesus replied, ‘You do not know
The nature of the thing you ask;
Can you drink from my cup like me?
They answered back, ‘Yes, Lord, we can! ’
Then Jesus told, ‘Indeed you can
Drink from the cup I’m going to drink;
To sit at my right and my left,
Is not the privilege, I can give,
But happens as my Father tells.’
The ten who heard this got angry,
At the two brothers and mother;
Jesus said. ‘You know how Gentile
Rulers lord it ov’r them, to make
Their authority, felt by them? ’
So, shall it be amongst you too;
The one who wishes to be great,
Shall be your servant in that case;
The one who wishes to be first,
Shall be your slave to so become;
The Son of Man came to give life,
As ransom for many of you,
But never came to be served then.’
On leaving Jericho, a crowd
Had followed Him wherev’r, He went; ;
Two blind men sitting by roadside,
Cried out, ‘Lord, have on us, pity.
You Son of David, show mercy.’
So, Jesus stopped and asked of them,
‘Tell me what you want me to do.’
They answered back, ‘Give us our sight.’
Then Jesus touched their eyes at once,
As He felt pity on the two,
And they, could see from that moment.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Crucifixion of Christ
Composed, by Special Request, 18th June 1890
Then Pilate, the Roman Governor, took Jesus and scourged Him,
And the soldiers platted a crown of thorns, and thought it no sin
To put it on His head, while meekly Jesus stands;
They put on Him a purple robe, and smote Him with their hands.
Then Pilate went forth again, and said unto them,
Behold, I bring Him forth to you, but I cannot Him condemn,
And I would have you to remember I find no fault in Him,
And to treat Him too harshly 'twould be a sin.
But the rabble cried. Hail, King of the Jews, and crucify Him;
But Pilate saith unto them, I find in Him no sin;
Then Jesus came forth, looking dejected and wan,
And Pilate saith unto them, Behold the Man.
Then the Jews cried out, By our laws He ought to die,
Because He made Himself the Son of God the Most High;
And when Pilate heard that saying the Jews had made,
He saw they were dissatisfied, and he was the more afraid.
And to release Jesus Pilate did really intend,
But the Jews cried angrily, Pilate, thou art not Caesar's friend,
Remember, if thou let this vile impostor go,
It only goes to prove thou art Caesar's foe.
When Pilate heard that he felt very irate,
Then he brought Josus forth, and sat down in the judgment-seat,
In a place that is called the Pavement,
While the Blessed Saviour stood calm and content.
The presence of His enemies did not Him appal,
When Pilate asked of Him, before them all,
Whence art Thou, dost say from on High?
But Jesus, the Lamb of God, made no reply.
Then saith Pilate unto Him, Speakest Thou not unto me,
Remember, I have the power to crucify Thee;
But Jesus answered, Thou hast no power at all against me,
Except from above it were given to thee.
Then Pilate to the Jews loudly cried,
Take Him away to be crucified;
Then the soldiers took Jesus and led Him away,
And He, bearing His Cross, without dismay.
And they led Him to a place called Golgotha,
But the Saviour met His fate without any awe,
And there crucified Him with two others, one on either side,
And Jesus in the midst, whilst the Jews did Him deride.
Then Pilate tried to pacify the Jews, they felt so morose,
And he wrote a title, and put it on the Cross;
And the title he wrote did the Jews amuse,
The writing was, Jesus of Nazareth the King of the Jews.
This title read many of the Jews without any pity;
And the place where Jesus was crucified was nigh to the city;
And the title was written in Hebrew, and Greek, and Latin,
And while reading the title the Jews did laugh and grin.
While on the Cross the sun refused to shine,
And there was total darkness for a long time;
The reason was God wanted to hide His wounds from view,
And He kept the blessed sun from breaking through.
And to quench His thirst they gave Him vinegar and hyssop,
While the blood from His wounded brow copiously did drop,
Then He drank of it willingly, and bowed His head,
And in a few minutes the dear Saviour was dead.
Then Joseph of Arimathea sadly did grieve,
And he asked if Pilate would give him leave
To take the body of Jesus away,
And Pilate told him to remove it without delay.
Then Joseph took the body of Jesus away,
And wound it in linen, which was the Jewish custom of that day,
And embalmed his body with spices sweet,
Then laid it in a new sepulchre, as Joseph thought meet.
But death could not hold Him in the grave,
Because He died poor sinners' souls to save;
And God His Father took Him to Heaven on high;
And those that believe in Jesus shall never die.
Oh! think of the precious Blood our Saviour did loss,
That flowed from His wounds while on the Cross,
Especially the wound in His side, made with a spear,
And if you are a believer, you will drop a silent tear.
And if you are not a believer, try and believe,
And don't let the devil any longer you deceive,
Because the precious Blood that Jesus shed will free you from all sin,
Therefore, believe in the Saviour, and Heaven you shall enter in!
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Esau
Poor Esau repented too late
That once he his birth-right despised;
And sold, for a morsel of meat,
What could not too highly be prized:
How great was his anguish when told,
The blessing he sought to obtain,
Was gone with the birth-right he sold,
And none could recall it again!
He stands as a warning to all,
Wherever the gospel shall come;
O Hasten and yield to the call,
While yet for repentance there's room!
Your season will quickly be past,
Then hear and obey it today;
Lest when you seek mercy at last,
The Saviour should frown you away.
What is it the world can propose?
A morsel of meat at the best!
For this are you willing to lose
A share in the joys of the blest?
Its pleasures will speedily end,
Its favor and praise are but breath;
And what can its profits befriend
Your soul in the moment of death?
If Jesus for these you despise,
And sin to the Saviour prefer;
In vain your entreaties and cries,
When summoned to stand at his bar:
How will you his presence abide?
What anguish will torture your heart?
The saints all enthroned by his side,
And you be compelled to depart.
Too often, dear Saviour, have I
Preferred some poor trifle to thee;
How is it thou dost not deny
The blessing and birth-right to me?
No better than Esau I am,
Though pardon and heav'n be mine;
To me belongs nothing but shame,
The praise and the glory be thine.
poem by John Newton
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Husband And Wife
The world had chafed his spirit proud
By its wearing, crushing strife,
The censure of the thoughtless crowd
Had touched a blameless life;
Like the dove of old, from the water’s foam,
He wearily turned to the ark of home.
Hopes he had cherished with joyous heart,
Had toiled for many a day,
With body and spirit, and patient art,
Like mists had melted away;
And o’er day-dreams vanished, o’er fond hopes flown,
He sat him down to mourn alone.
No, not alone, for soft fingers rest
On his hot and aching brow,
Back the damp hair is tenderly pressed
While a sweet voice whispers low:
“Thy joys have I shared, O my husband true,
And shall I not share thy sorrows too?”
Vain task to resist the loving gaze
That so fondly meets his own,
Revealing a heart that cares for praise
From him and him alone;
And though censure and grief upon him pall,
Unto to her, at least, he is all in all.
What though false friends should turn aside,
Or chill with icy look;
What though he meet the pitying pride,
The proud heart ill can brook;
There are depths of love in one gentle heart,
Whose faith with death alone will part.
Aye! well may thy brow relax its gloom,
For a talisman hast thou
’Gainst hopes that are blighted in their bloom,
’Gainst scornful look or brow—
Her heart is a high and a holy throne
Where monarch supreme thou reignest alone.
Kindly return her tender gaze,
Press closely that little hand,
Whisper fond words and soothing praise—
They are ever at thy command;
It is all the harvest she asks to reap
In return for love as the ocean deep.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hymn XXIII: Extended on a Cursed Tree
Extended on a cursed tree,
Besmeared with dust, and sweat, and blood,
See there, the king of glory see!
Sinks and expires the Son of God.
Who, who, my Saviour, this hath done?
Who could thy sacred body wound?
No guilt thy spotless heart hath known,
No guile hath in thy lips been found.
I, I alone, have done the deed!
'Tis I thy sacred flesh have torn;
My sins have caused thee, Lord, to bleed,
Pointed the nail, and fixed the thorn.
The burden, for me to sustain
Too great, on thee, my Lord, was laid;
To heal me, thou hast borne my pain;
To bless me, thou a curse wast made.
In the devouring lion's teeth,
Torn, and forsook of all, I lay;
Thou sprang'st into the jaws of death,
From death to save the helpless prey.
Saviour how shall I proclaim?
How pay the mighty debt I owe?
Let all I have, and all I am,
Ceaseless to all thy glory show.
Too much to thee I cannot give;
Too much I cannot do for thee;
Let all thy love, and all thy grief,
Graven on my heart for ever be!
The meek, the still, the lowly mind,
O may I learn from thee, my God,
And love, with softest pity joined,
For those that trample on thy blood!
Still let thy tears, thy groans, thy sighs,
O'erflow my eyes, and heave my breast,
Till loose from flesh and earth I rise,
And ever in thy bosom rest.
poem by John Wesley
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