On The Promotion Of Edward Thurlow, Esq. To The Lord High Chancellorship Of England
Round Thurlow's head in early youth,
And in his sportive days,
Fair science poured the light of truth,
And genius shed his rays.
See! with united wonder, cried
The experienced and the sage,
Ambition in a boy supplied
With all the skill of age.
Discernment, eloquence, and grace
Proclaim him born to sway
The balance in the highest place,
And bear the palm away.
The praise bestowed was just and wise;
He sprang impetuous forth,
Secure of conquest, where the prize
Attends the superior worth.
So the best courser on the plain
Ere yet he starts is known,
And does but at the goal obtain
What all had deemed his own.
poem by William Cowper
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To The Right Honourable The Lady Elizabeth Boyle On Her Birth—Day
May each new Year some new Perfection give,
Till all the Mother in the Daughter live!
May'st Thou her Virtues to the World restore!
And be what Henrietta was before!
And when revolving Years mature thy Charms,
When Pride of Conquest thy fair Bosom warms,
May some great Youth, for ev'ry Grace renown'd,
With Taste and Science bless'd, by Virtue crown'd;
By Virtue guarded from Ambition's Wiles,
Superior both to Fortune's Frowns and Smiles;
Who wears the Honours of a glorious Name,
Yet to Distinction bears a nobler Claim;
Like a new Star, in native Lustre bright,
That boasts no Radiance from reflected Light:
Allow'd the rising Genius of his Age;
By ev'ry Excellence thy Heart engage;
Like Him who bless'd thy Mother's Nuptial State;
But O! may Heav'n give Thine a longer Date.
poem by Mary Barber
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Epitaph On Johnson
Here Johnson lies, a sage by all allowed,
Whom to have bred, may well make England proud;
Whose prose was eloquence, by wisdom taught,
The graceful vehicle of virtuous thought;
Whose verse may claim, grave, masculine and strong,
Superior praise to the mere poet's song;
Who many a noble gift from Heaven possessed,
And faith at last, alone worth all the rest.
O man, immortal by a double prize,
By fame on earth, by glory in the skies!
poem by William Cowper
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Extending God’s Unending Grace
By the world we’ll be denied, but God, our Lord, will provide,
Grace to every one of us, who knows The Lord, Christ Jesus.
Saved from sin, once defiled, we stand anew as God’s child,
And by the Grace He’s supplied, in God’s Truth we can abide.
Now as God’s child and an heir, God’s Grace we are to share,
With men who may not know, God above, who loves them so,
And sent His Son, in their place, all supplied, by God’s Grace.
That they also, may believe, and from God, His Grace receive.
Simply reflect where we’re from, and how far we’ve truly come,
As we have lived our new life, through the very Grace of Christ,
Of God’s Grace, we can infer, The Lord met us, where we were,
But He’d leave us not the same, by the power of Christ’s Name.
God has done so much for us, when in Christ we place all trust,
Forgiving us of all our sin, then sending His Spirit to live within,
Paying for all of us sin’s full price, and granting us Eternal Life,
Then seating us in Heaven above, afforded by Grace and Love.
As God’s Spirit moves our heart, His love to all we must impart,
By God’s Grace we can afford, to extend that Love of our Lord,
For unending is God’s supply, of grace bestowed on you and I,
As we extend to every nation, God’s love for all in His salvation.
(Copyright ©03/2010)
Psalm 145
The greatness of God.
My God, my King, thy various praise
Shall fill the remnant of my days;
Thy grace employ my humble tongue
Till death and glory raise the song.
The wings of every hour shall bear
Some thankful tribute to thine ear;
And every setting sun shall see
New works of duty done for thee.
Thy truth and justice I'll proclaim;
Thy bounty flows an endless stream;
Thy mercy swift, thine anger slow,
But dreadful to the stubborn foe.
Thy works with sovereign glory shine,
And speak thy majesty divine;
Let Britain round her shores proclaim
The sound and honor of thy name.
Let distant times and nations raise
The long succession of thy praise,
And unborn ages make my song
The joy and labor of their tongue.
But who can speak thy wondrous deeds?
Thy greatness all our thoughts exceeds?
Vast and unsearchable thy ways,
Vast and immortal be thy praise!
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 71 part 3
v.17-21
C. M.
The aged Christian's prayer and song.
God of my childhood and my youth,
The guide of all my days,
I have declared thy heav'nly truth,
And told thy wondrous ways.
Wilt thou forsake my hoary hairs,
And leave my fainting heart?
Who shall sustain my sinking years,
If God my strength depart?
Let me thy power and truth proclaim
To the surviving age;
And leave a savor of thy name
When I shall quit the stage.
The land of silence and of death
Attends my next remove;
O may these poor remains of breath
Teach the wide world thy love!
PAUSE.
Thy righteousness is deep and high,
Unsearchable thy deeds;
Thy glory spreads beyond the sky,
And all my praise exceeds.
Oft have I heard thy threat'nings roar,
And oft endured the grief;
But when thy hand has pressed me sore,
Thy grace was my relief.
By long experience have I known
Thy sovereign power to save;
At thy command I venture down
Securely to the grave.
When I lie buried deep in dust,
My flesh shall be thy care;
These withering limbs with thee I trust,
To raise them strong and fair.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 150
v.1,2,6
C. M.
A song of praise.
In God's own house pronounce his praise,
His grace he there reveals;
To heav'n your joy and wonder raise,
For there his glory dwells.
Let all your sacred passions move,
While you rehearse his deeds;
But the great work of saving love
Your highest praise exceeds.
All that have motion, life, and breath,
Proclaim your Maker blest;
Yet, when my voice expires in death,
My soul shall praise him best.
poem by Isaac Watts
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An Inscription
At this fair oak table sat
Whilom he our Laureate,
Poet, handicraftsman, sage,
Light of our Victorian age,
William Morris, whose art's plan
Laid its lines in ample span,
Wrought it, trestle board and rib,
With good help of Philip Webb,
For an altar of carouse
In his own home, the Red House.
Thirty years and five here he
Made good cheer and company,
Feasting all with more than bread.
Had men stored the things he said,
Jests profound and foolings wise,
Truths unliveried of lies,
Basenesses chastised and set
Like hounds slain beneath his feet,
Knowledge prodigally poured,
His best wine, at this free board;
Nay, if but the crumbs he shed
Nightly round of heart and head
Gleaned had we, not this good hall
Half the wonders might install,
Wit's wealth lost, which now must sleep
Dumb when we have ceased to weep.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Character of a Happy Life
How happy is he born or taught,
That serveth not another's will;
Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth his highest skill;
Whose passions not his masters are;
Whose soul is still prepar'd for death
Untied unto the world with care
Of princes' grace or vulgar breath;
Who envies none whom chance doth raise,
Or vice; who never understood
The deepest wounds are given by praise,
By rule of state, but not of good;
Who hath his life from rumours freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruins make accusers great;
Who God doth late and early pray,
More of his grace than goods to send,
And entertains the harmless day
With a well-chosen book or friend.
This man is free from servile bands
Of hope to rise or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.
poem by Henry Wotton
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On Autumn´s Earth
This is the beginning
Now carry me away
On to the faraway new day
That now is born to play
Yes this is the beginning
Moments dreamed and found
Everything in its singing
That comes again around
Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
Times of days and worth
Each their together role
Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
Times of days and worth
Each their together role
On autumn´s earth
Yesterdays were all turning
In their beat´s echo heart
Forever in lay and burning
Poles and miles apart
Flames of their color giving
All that came from within
Days their dreams own living
As worlds take their spin
Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
Times of days and worth
Each their together role
Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
Times of days and worth
Each their together role
On autumn´s earth
Swept away in their call
Dreams that were carried on
Love songs of colors fall
Until their moments are gone
You and I had our calling
Dreams that were not to be
Now like autumn earth's falling
All that we had is now free
Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
Times of days and worth
Each their together role
Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
Times of days and worth
Each their together role
On autumn´s earth
Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
On autumn´s earth
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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On Autumns Earth
This is the beginning
Now carry me away
On to the faraway new day
That now is born to play
Yes this is the beginning
Moments dreamed and found
Everything in its singing
That comes again around
Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
Times of days and worth
Each their together role
Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
Times of days and worth
Each their together role
On autumn´s earth
Yesterdays were all turning
In their beat´s echo heart
Forever in lay and burning
Poles and miles apart
Flames of their color giving
All that came from within
Days their dreams own living
As worlds take their spin
Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
Times of days and worth
Each their together role
Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
Times of days and worth
Each their together role
On autumn´s earth
Swept away in their call
Dreams that were carried on
Love songs of colors fall
Until their moments are gone
You and I had our calling
Dreams that were not to be
Now like autumn earth's falling
All that we had is now free
Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
Times of days and worth
Each their together role
Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
Times of days and worth
Each their together role
On autumn´s earth
Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
On autumn´s earth
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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The Treasure Digger
ALL my weary days I pass'd
Sick at heart and poor in purse.
Poverty's the greatest curse,
Riches are the highest good!
And to end my woes at last,
Treasure-seeking forth I sped.
"Thou shalt have my soul instead!"
Thus I wrote, and with my blood.
Ring round ring I forthwith drew,
Wondrous flames collected there,
Herbs and bones in order fair,
Till the charm had work'd aright.
Then, to learned precepts true,
Dug to find some treasure old,
In the place my art foretold
Black and stormy was the night.
Coming o'er the distant plain,
With the glimmer of a star,
Soon I saw a light afar,
As the hour of midnight knell'd.
Preparation was in vain.
Sudden all was lighted up
With the lustre of a cup
That a beauteous boy upheld.
Sweetly seem'd his eves to laugh
Neath his flow'ry chaplet's load;
With the drink that brightly glow'd,
He the circle enter'd in.
And he kindly bade me quaff:
Then methought "This child can ne'er,
With his gift so bright and fair,
To the arch-fiend be akin."
"Pure life's courage drink!" cried he:
"This advice to prize then learn,--
Never to this place return
Trusting in thy spells absurd;
Dig no longer fruitlessly.
Guests by night, and toil by day!
Weeks laborious, feast-days gay!
Be thy future magic-word!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Licia Sonnets 49
If that I die, fair Licia, with disdain,
Or heartless live surpriséd with thy wrong,
Then heavens and earth shall accent both my pain,
And curse the time so cruel and so long.
If you be kind, my queen, as you are fair,
And aid my thoughts that still for conquest strive,
Then will I sing and never more despair,
And praise your kindness whilst I am alive.
Till then I pay the tribute of my tears,
To move thy mercy and thy constant truth.
Respect, fair love, how these with sorrow wears
The truest heart unless it find some ruth.
Then grace me, sweet, and with thy favor raise me,
So shall I live and all the world shall praise thee.
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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Christmas Nowadays
“You have no fear, ” the angel said,
“To Shepherds on a winter’s night.”
“A king anew is born today! ”
The king of Jews and King of kings.
He is the truth and way and light!
No place was there in Bethlehem;
Born in a manger, so he lay;
Swaddled in cloth, he slept on hay;
He came to save all sinners, Aye!
And show all Heaven’s only way!
And angel choirs sang in God’s praise;
Thus, Jesus was living God’s face!
The Savior’s born in hearts with grace;
He came to forgive human race,
And die on cross, the Bible says!
But what about Christmas these days?
Is Jesus born in homes truly?
Is Jesus born in souls holy?
The Son of man is born surely
In souls who confess sins freely!
poem by John Celes
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Ode IV: To The Honourable Charles Townshend In The Country
I. 1.
How oft shall i survey
This humble roof, the lawn, the greenwood shade,
The vale with sheaves o'erspread,
The glassy brook, the flocks which round thee stray?
When will thy cheerful mind
Of these have utter'd all her dear esteem?
Or, tell me, dost thou deem
No more to join in glory's toilsome race,
But here content imbrace
That happy leisure which thou had'st resign'd?
I. 2.
Alas, ye happy hours,
When books and youthful sport the soul could share,
Ere one ambitious care
Of civil life had aw'd her simpler powers;
Oft as your winged train
Revisit here my friend in white array,
Oh fail not to display
Each fairer scene where I perchance had part,
That so his generous heart
The abode of even friendship may remain.
I. 3.
For not imprudent of my loss to come,
I saw from contemplation's quiet cell
His feet ascending to another home
Where public praise and envied greatness dwell.
But shall we therefore, o my lyre
Reprove ambition's best desire?
Extinguish glory's flame?
Far other was the task injoin'd
When to my hand thy strings were first assign'd:
Far other faith belongs to friendship's honor'd name.
II. 1.
Thee, Townshend, not the arms
Of slumbering ease, nor pleasure's rosy chain,
Were destin'd to detain:
No, nor bright science, nor the Muse's charms.
For them high heaven prepares
Their proper votaries, an humbler band:
And ne'er would Spenser's hand
Have deign'd to strike the warbling Tuscan shell,
Nor Harrington to tell
What habit an immortal city wears,
II. 2.
Had this been born to shield
The cause which Cromwell's impious hand betray'd,
Or that, like Vere, display'd
His redcross banner o'er the Belgian field.
Yet where the will divine
Hath shut those loftiest paths, it next remains,
With reason clad in strains
Of harmony, selected minds to inspire,
And virtue's living fire
To feed and eternize in hearts like thine.
II. 3.
For never shall the herd, whom envy sways,
So quell my purpose or my tongue controul,
That I should fear illustrious worth to praise,
Because it's master's friendship mov'd my soul.
Yet, if this undissembling strain
Should now perhaps thine ear detain
With any pleasing sound,
Remember thou that righteous fame
From hoary age a strict account will claim
Of each auspicious palm with which thy youth was crown'd.
III. 1.
Nor obvious is the way
Where heaven expects thee, nor the traveller leads,
Through flowers or fragrant meads,
Or groves that hark to Philomela's lay.
The impartial laws of fate
To nobler virtues wed severer cares.
Is there a man who shares
The summit next where heavenly natures dwell?
Ask him (for he can tell)
What storms beat round that rough laborious height.
III. 2.
Ye heroes, who of old
Did generous England freedom's throne ordain;
From Alfred's parent reign
To Nassau, great deliverer, wise and bold;
I know your perils hard,
Your wounds, your painful marches, wintry seas,
The night estrang'd from ease,
The day by cowardice and falsehood vex'd,
The head with doubt perplex'd,
The indignant heart disdaining the reward
III. 3.
Which envy hardly grants. But, o renown,
O praise from judging heaven and virtuous men,
If thus they purchas'd thy divinest crown,
Say, who shall hesitate? or who complain?
And now they sit on thrones above:
And when among the gods they move
Before the sovran mind,
'Lo, these,' he saith, 'lo, these are they
'Who to the laws of mine eternal sway
'From violence and fear asserted human kind.'
IV. 1.
Thus honor'd while the train
Of legislators in his presence dwell;
If I may aught foretell,
The statesman shall the second palm obtain.
For dreadful deeds of arms
Let vulgar bards, with undiscerning praise,
More glittering trophies raise:
But wisest heaven what deeds may chiefly move
To favor and to love?
What, save wide blessings, or averted harms?
IV. 2.
Nor to the imbattled field
Shall these achievements of the peaceful gown
The green immortal crown
Of valor, or the songs of conquest, yield.
Not Fairfax wildly bold,
While bare of crest he hew'd his fatal way,
Through Nasesby's firm array,
To heavier dangers did his breast oppose
Than Pym's free virtue chose,
When the proud force of Strafford he controul'd.
IV. 3.
But what is man at enmity with truth?
What were the fruits of Wentworth's copious mind
When (blighted all the promise of his youth)
The patriot in a tyrant's league had join'd?
Let Ireland's loud-lamenting plains,
Let Tyne's and Humber's trampled swain
Let menac'd London tell
How impious guile made wisdom base;
How generous zeal to cruel rage gave place;
And how unbless'd he liv'd and how dishonor'd fell.
V. 1.
Thence never hath the Muse
Around his tomb Pierian roses flung:
Nor shall one poet's tongue
His name for music's pleasing labor chuse.
And sure, when nature kind
Hath deck'd some favor'd breast above the throng,
That man with grievous wrong
Affronts and wounds his genius, if he bends
To guilt's ignoble ends
The functions of his ill-submitting mind.
V. 2.
For worthy of the wise
Nothing can seem but virtue; nor earth yield
Their fame an equal field,
Save where impartial freedom gives the prize.
There Somers fix'd his name,
Inroll'd the next to William. there shall Time
To every wondering clime
Point out that Somers, who from faction's croud,
The slanderous and the loud,
Could fair assent and modest reverence claim.
V. 3.
Nor aught did laws or social arts acquire,
Nor this majestic weal of Albion's land
Did aught accomplish, or to aught aspire,
Without his guidance, his superior hand.
And rightly shall the Muse's care
Wreaths like her own for him prepare,
Whose mind's inamor'd aim
Could forms of civil beauty draw
Sublime as ever sage or poet saw,
Yet still to life's rude scene the proud ideas tame.
VI. 1.
Let none profane be near!
The Muse was never foreign to his breast:
On power's grave seat confess'd,
Still to her voice he bent a lover's ear.
And if the blessed know
Their ancient cares, even now the unfading groves,
Where haply Milton roves
With Spenser, hear the inchanted echos round
Through farthest heaven resound
Wise Somers, guardian of their fame below.
VI. 2.
He knew, the patriot knew,
That letters and the Muses powerful art
Exalt the ingenuous heart,
And brighten every form of just and true.
They lend a nobler sway
To civil wisdom, than corruption's lure
Could ever yet procure:
They too from envy's pale malignant light
Conduct her forth to sight
Cloath'd in the fairest colors of the day.
VI. 3.
O Townshend, thus may Time, the judge severe,
Instruct my happy tongue of thee to tell:
And when i speak of one to freedom dear
For planning wisely and for acting well,
Of one whom glory loves to own,
Who still by liberal means alone
Hath liberal ends pursu'd;
Then, for the guerdon of my lay,
'This man with faithful friendship,' will i say,
'From youth to honor'd age my arts and me hath view'd.'
poem by Mark Akenside
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Written In A Young Lady's Album
Sweet friend, the world, like some fair infant blessed,
Radiant with sportive grace, around thee plays;
Yet 'tis not as depicted in thy breast--
Not as within thy soul's fair glass, its rays
Are mirrored. The respectful fealty
That my heart's nobleness hath won for thee,
The miracles thou workest everywhere,
The charms thy being to this life first lent,--
To it, mere charms to reckon thou'rt content,
To us, they seem humanity so fair.
The witchery sweet of ne'er-polluted youth,
The talisman of innocence and truth--
Him I would see, who these to scorn can dare!
Thou revellest joyously in telling o'er
The blooming flowers that round thy path are strown,--
The glad, whom thou hast made so evermore,--
The souls that thou hast conquered for thine own.
In thy deceit so blissful be thou glad!
Ne'er let a waking disenchantment sad
Hurl thee despairing from thy dream's proud flight!
Like the fair flowerets that thy beds perfume,
Observe them, but ne'er touch them as they bloom,--
Plant them, but only for the distant sight.
Created only to enchant the eye,
In faded beauty at thy feet they'll lie,
The nearer thee, the nearer their long night!
poem by Friedrich Schiller
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Yet By Grace
I’ve experienced a lot of grace, while on earth I’ve run my race,
This race on earth, we call life, while being led by Jesus Christ;
The Grace of God, so undeserved, yet by grace I have served,
The Eternal God and Creator, when by Grace, I met The Savior.
God’s Grace I had never known, while Truth I was never shown,
Bible Truths from God of Eternity, yet by Grace, He saved me;
It was God Who loved me first, while an unbeliever at my worst,
Deceived, lost and totally depraved, yet by Grace, I was saved.
After cleansing me of my sin, His Grace to me would just begin,
As I began this life brand new, God’s Grace did see me through;
Starting life on the narrow way, with God leading me day to day,
His Grace was apparent in my life, guided by the Spirit of Christ.
The grace God had granted to me, in a weary world set me free,
Freed from the anxieties of life, in a world that’s filled with strife,
And as I live my life day to day, His Grace given, is here to stay,
To quiet all that anxiety and fear, as life’s troubles do draw near.
His Grace is there at every bend, being all sufficient with no end,
Especially in the darkest of time, surely dispersed by His design,
Grace that brings comfort and light, while in that darkest of night,
Along come trial’s gloomy rays, yet His Grace comforts my days.
(Copyright ©12/2011)
Olney Hymn 22: Prayer For A Blessing In The Young
Bestow, dear Lord, upon our youth
The gift of saving grace;
And let the seed of sacred truth
Fall in a fruitful place.
Grace is a plant, where'er it grows,
Of pure and heav'nly root;
But fairest in the youngest shows,
And yields the sweetest fruit;
Ye careless ones, O hear betimes
The voice of sovereign love!
Your youth is stained with many crimes,
But mercy reigns above.
True, you are young, but there's a stone
Within the youngest breast;
Or half the crimes which you have done.
Would rob you of your rest.
For you the public prayer is made,
O! join the public prayer!
For you the secret tear is shed,
O shed yourselves a tear.
We pray that you may early prove
The Spirit's power to teach;
You cannot be too young to love
That Jesus whom we preach.
poem by William Cowper
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England CXVII
England, queen of the waves, whose green inviolate girdle enrings thee
round,
Mother fair as the morning, where is now the place of thy foemen found?
Still the sea that salutes us free proclaims them stricken, acclaims
thee crowned.
Time may change, and the skies grow strange with signs of treason, and
fraud, and fear:
Foes in union of strange communion may rise against thee from far and
near:
Sloth and greed on thy strength may feed as cankers waxing from year
to year.
Yet, though treason and fierce unreason should league and lie and defame
and smite,
We that know thee, how far below thee the hatred burns of the sons of
night,
We that love thee, behold above thee the witness written of life in
light.
Life that shines from thee shows forth signs that none may read not by
eyeless foes:
Hate, born blind, in his abject mind grows hopeful now but as madness
grows:
Love, born wise, with exultant eyes adores thy glory, beholds and glows.
Truth is in thee, and none may win thee to lie, forsaking the face of
truth:
Freedom lives by the grace she gives thee, born again from thy deathless
youth:
Faith should fail, and the world turn pale, wert thou the prey of the
serpent's tooth.
Greed and fraud, unabashed, unawed, may strive to sting thee at heel in
vain;
Craft and fear and mistrust may leer and mourn and murmur and plead and
plain:
Thou art thou: and thy sunbright brow is hers that blasted the strength
of Spain.
Mother, mother beloved, none other could claim in place of thee England's
place:
Earth bears none that beholds the sun so pure of record, so clothed with
grace:
Dear our mother, nor son nor brother is thine, as strong or as fair of
face,
How shalt thou be abased? or how shalt fear take hold of thy heart? of
thine,
England, maiden immortal, laden with charge of life and with hopes
divine?
Earth shall wither, when eyes turned hither behold not light in her
darkness shine.
England, none that is born thy son, and lives by grace of thy glory,
free,
Lives and yearns not at heart and burns with hope to serve as he
worships thee;
None may sing thee: the sea-wind's wing beats down our songs as it
hails the sea
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Hymn 27
Assurance of heaven.
2 Tim. 4:68,18.
[Death may dissolve my body now,
And bear my spirit home;
Why do my minutes move so slow,
Nor my salvation come?
With heav'nly weapons I have fought
The battles of the Lord;
Finished my course, and kept the faith,
And wait the sure reward.]
God has laid up in heav'n for me
A crown which cannot fade;
The righteous Judge at that great day
Shall place it on my head.
Nor hath the King of grace decreed
This prize for me alone;
But all that love and long to see
Th' appearance of his Son.
Jesus the Lord shall guard me safe
From every ill design;
And to his heav'nly kingdom keep
This feeble soul of mine.
God is my everlasting aid,
And hell shall rage in vain;
To him be highest glory paid
And endless praise--Amen.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Relying On The Holy Spirit
The Holy Spirit is enough for me, as I’ve been sealed for eternity,
Sealed, by The Spirit of Christ, with His guarantee of Eternal Life;
The Spirit, the only teacher I need, as Truth, He helps me to heed,
Guiding me through all my days, for Christ’s Glory and His Praise.
For The Spirit opened my eyes, to discern Truth from Satan’s lies,
Teaching me the Ways of God, while led by Christ’s staff and rod,
Growing in His Truth and Love, assisted by His Spirit, from above,
Teaching me God’s Truth day to day, as I travel life’s Narrow Way.
It’s the work of God’s Holy Spirit, to shed light on Truth as I hear it,
Revealing Truths, that I never heard, from God’s Holy, Living Word.
From The Truth, revealed to men, by God’s Spirit, I am Born Again,
Believing in Christ and Him alone, I became one of God’s very own.
As God’s Spirit led me to believe, The Truth of God I would receive,
Believing the Saving Truth of Christ, I received in the Spirit New Life,
And at that very time and place, my life was changed, by His Grace,
Never again would it be the same; all by the power of Christ’s Name.
It is in Christ, that I now abide, through The Spirit, Who dwells inside,
And in God’s Spirit, I fully rely, in the same power from God on high,
Sent to comfort Children of God, while they journey this earthly sod,
Who will also, soon snatch us away, to Heaven on that Glorious day.
(Copyright ©06/2010)