Keith Hunt - The Poet's Corner - Page Three   Restitution of All Things

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The Poet's Corner #3

Poems to Warm the Heart!

                           THE POET'S CORNER #3

(author unknown)

I live alone, dear Lord, 
Stay by my side, 
In all my daily needs, 
Be Thou my guide. 
Grant me good health, 
For that indeed, I pray, 
To carry on my work 
From day to day. 

Keep pure my mind, 
My thoughts, my every deed, 
Let me be kind, unselfish 
In my neighbor's need. 
Spare me from fire, from flood, 
Malicious tongues, 
From thieves, from fear, 
And evil ones. 

If sickness or an accident befall, 
Then humbly, Lord, I pray, 
Hear Thou my call. 
And when I'm feeling low, 
Or in despair, 
Lift up my heart, 
And help me in my prayer. 
I live alone, dear Lord, 
Yet have no fear, 
Because I feel Your Presence 
Ever near. Amen.

by J. Osswald

How high is this mountain Lord, how high must I climb
And on the other side, what is it I'll find 
The distance ahead seems such a great length 
I'm not really sure if I have the strength 
Forgive me for questioning, but I need to know 
Is this really the direction that you want me to go?

I heard no response to the questions I asked 
And the mountain ahead seemed such a great task 
I was tired and weary, had tried my best 
But the load was too heavy, so I sat down to rest 
As I sat for a while under the shade of a tree 
The answers I was seeking came to me.

The road I had been traveling was no mistake 
This was the direction he meant me to take
How high is the mountain, I need not know 
If he leads me there, then I must go 
And wherever it takes me, I'll not ask why 
With God at my side, no mountain's too high.

by Elizabeth Gardner Reynolds

I wonder if Christ had a little black dog, 
All curly and woolly like mine; 
With two silky ears and a nose round and wet, 
And two eyes, brown and tender, that shine.

I'm sure if He had, that little black dog
Knew right from the first He was God; 
That he needed no proof that Christ was divine, 
But just worshipped the ground that He trod.

I'm afraid that He hadn't because I have read 
How He prayed in the garden alone; 
For all of His friends and disciples had fled, 
Even Peter, the one called a stone.

And, oh, I am sure that little black dog, 
With a heart so tender and warm, 
Would never have left Him to suffer alone, 
But creeping right under His arm ....

Would have licked those dear fingers, in agony clasped; 
And counting all favors but loss, 
When they took Him away would have trotted behind, 
And followed Him quite to the Cross!


To be continued

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