THE POET'S CORNER
I have tried to give in the most part, poems that are not that
well known, maybe not known at all but by a relative few - Keith
RIGHT OR WRONG
by Jim Bain
Who Is Right Or Who Is Wrong
Does It Really Matter Is My Song.
Your Thoughts Are Transient In My Sight.
It's When I Touch You - Then You're Right.
So When Your Road Seems Tough And Strained
If You're Hurting Or Perhaps Maimed
Look Up My Child And Call For Me
Your Only Master - You'll Surely See.
What Really Matters In My Sight
Isn't Who's Wrong Or Who Is Right.
A Figure Of Your Imagination - Your End
But Discerning Indeed - I Will Send
When Your Whole Heart Is Focused Upon Me
That Day The Vision Will Clearly Be.
Your Need Is Me And Only Me.
Me You'll See - Then I In Thee.
My Purpose From Genesis Did Impart
My Image Of You From The Very Start.
Not Completed At This Time
But A Continuing Process In My Time.
Your Finished Image Soon To Be
Polished Up - Perfected - In Thee.
THE HOUSE WHICH CHARLIE BUILT
Charlie was a carpenter ready to retire
He told his employer of his plans and of his desire
He'd miss his pay check, but he'd live within his means
To live more at ease was in Charlie's greatest dreams
The contractor was sorry to see his good worker go
So he asked him if he'd build just one more house or so
Charlie said, yes he would, but it was clear to see
That the carpenter's heart was not in his work to be
His attitude was careless and his workmanship was bad
But Charlie finally finished it, and his employer, he was glad
It is your house, he said, with gentlemanly glee
It is my gift to you, It's absolutely free
Now Charlie, he was thoughtful, as he thought about his wealth
If I had only known, I was building for myself
I would have been more careful and done it differently
And even so it is, as we live our lives so frivolously
Each day we drive a nail and put a board in place
We cannot do it over, or all our mistakes erase
So let us live our lives each day, without repressed guilt
For we may have to live, in the house which Charlie built
UNFOLDING A ROSE
It is only a tiny rosebud,
A flower of God's design;
But I cannot unfold the petals
With these clumsy hands of mine.
The secret of unfolding flowers
Is not known to such as I.
GOD opens the flower so sweetly
When in my hands they die.
If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
This flower of God's design,
then how I have the wisdom
To unfold this life of mine?
So I'll trust him for leading
each moment of my day.
I will look to him for guidance
Each step of the pilgrim way.
The pathway that lies before me,
Only the Heavenly Father knows.
I'll trust Him to unfold the moments
Just as He unfolds the rose.
by Leona Bay Gater
"The road is too rough," I said
"Dear Lord there are stones that hurt me so!"
And He said, "Dear child, I understand,
I walked it long ago."
"But there's a cool green path" I said,
"Let me walk there for a time."
"No child," He gently answered me,
"The green road does not climb."
"My burden," I said, "is far too great;
How can I bear it so?"
"My child," said He, "I remember its weight
I carried my cross, you know."
"But," I said, "there were friends with me
Who would make my way their own."
"Ah, yes" He said, "Gethsemane
Was hard to face alone."
And so I climbed the stony path,
Content at last to know
That where my Master had not gone
I would not need to go.
And, strangely then I found new friends,
The burden grew less sore
And I remembered, --- long ago
He went that way before.
RETURN O ISRAEL!
By Vera A. Basham
Return to God, 0 Israel,
For Oh, why will ye die?
So soon from highest heaven
The sign of Christ draws nigh.
In dazzling white the angel band
About the Lord take up their stand
All glorious on high.
Return to God, 0 Israel
He calleth now for you.
The First-fruits of the sleeping
Soon come to mortal view.
His trumpet summons to the skies
The dead in Christ - His living rise -
To Him with life anew.
Return to God, 0 Israel
He maketh all things new
And all that He hath promised
Shall be fulfilled in you.
Cast out your sin -- return to Him
The King descends in power to reign
Our God returns in triumph high
Choose, Israel! Will ye live or die?
To be continued