Poem: light without heat

Poem: lost judgment

lost judgment 

verb | lose verb-past | lost & the participle | lost 

the Grammarians cried: “Adjectivally! Adjectivally! Not this man, but Barabbas!” such it was such was it such and shortly the days-darkness enveloped their land; weeks later the Stone of the Head of the Corner said: “Brethren, I wot that through ignorance ye did it.” such it was said was it said such and yet believed--the lost judgment ye did it, as did also your rulers. “Repent ye therefore, and be converted, when the times of refreshing come lose the lost judgment.” 

Emily Dickinson: Envelope Poem - A 128

A 128

All       men       for        Honor
hardest        work
But            are      not      known
to     earn -
Paid      after        they   have
ceased     to        work
In          Infamy           or   Urn -

(Marta Werner and Jen Bervin, Emily Dickinson: The Gorgeous Nothings [a collection of Dickinson's "envelope poems"], 28).

George MacDonald - The Girl That Lost Things

The Girl That Lost Things by George MacDonald

There was a girl that lost things—

Nor only from her hand;

She lost, indeed—why, most things,

As if they had been sand!

She said, "But I must use them,

And can't look after all!

Indeed I did not lose them,

I only let them fall!"

That's how she lost her thimble,

It fell upon the floor:

Her eyes were very nimble

But she never saw it more.

And then she lost her dolly,

Her very doll of all!

That loss was far from jolly,

But worse things did befall.

She lost a ring of pearls

With a ruby in them set;

But the dearest girl of girls

Cried only, did not fret.

And then she lost her robin;

Ah, that was sorrow dire!

He hopped along, and—bob in—

Hopped bob into the fire!

And once she lost a kiss

As she came down the stair;

But that she did not miss,

For sure it was somewhere!

Just then she lost her heart too,

But did so well without it

She took that in good part too,

And said—not much about it.

But when she lost her health

She did feel rather poor,

Till in came loads of wealth

By quite another door!

And soon she lost a dimple

That was upon her cheek,

But that was very simple—

She was so thin and weak!

And then she lost her mother,

And thought that she was dead;

Sure there was not another

On whom to lay her head!

And then she lost her self—

But that she threw away;

And God upon his shelf

It carefully did lay.

And then she lost her sight,

And lost all hope to find it;

But a fountain-well of light

Came flashing up behind it.

At last she lost the world:

In a black and stormy wind

Away from her it whirled—

But the loss how could she mind?

For with it she lost her losses,

Her aching and her weeping,

Her pains and griefs and crosses,

And all things not worth keeping;

It left her with the lost things

Her heart had still been craving;

'Mong them she found—why, most things,

And all things worth the saving.

She found her precious mother,

Who not the least had died;

And then she found that other

Whose heart had hers inside.

And next she found the kiss

She lost upon the stair;

'Twas sweeter far, I guess,

For ripening in that air.

She found her self, all mended,

New-drest, and strong, and white;

She found her health, new-blended

With a radiant delight.

She found her little robin:

He made his wings go flap,

Came fluttering, and went bob in,

Went bob into her lap.

So, girls that cannot keep things,

Be patient till to-morrow;

And mind you don't beweep things

That are not worth such sorrow;

For the Father great of fathers,

Of mothers, girls, and boys,

In his arms his children gathers,

And sees to all their toys

Poem: This is the Covenant of Grace

A poem by William Geddes (1600-1694) about the Covenant of Redemption, made between the God the Father and God the Son, and the Covenant of Grace, made between (by the mediation of Jesus) the Triune God and Mankind--the poem demonstrates how the former covenant is the ground of the latter covenant.

This is the Covenant of Grace,

Which brings my Soul so sweet solace.

There is a gracious paction

Betwixt the Father and the Son.

 

And by the Son, with Adam's race,

Who should repent, and seek his grace.

The Son unto the Father spake,

I will Man's nature on me take.

 

I will my self a ransom give,

For the Elect that they may live:

Come, Son, (quothe He) if thou do so,

They shall be saved from Hell and woe.

 

The Father to poor man he saith,

If thou believe with saving Faith,

In this my Son I'll give thee peace:

Eternal Love shall thee embrace.

 

(Quoted in Joel R. Beeke and Mark Jones, A Puritan Theology: Doctrine for Life, 257-258.)

 





Lord God of Hosts

Lord God of Hosts

Lord God of Hosts will judge the wicked;

Lord God of Hosts will judge righteously.

    To the wicked -- He declares warnings, but

    Words of kindness go out from the Lord's lips

    To the ears of the righteous.

Lord God of Hosts is the LORD;

Lord God of Hosts, in battle, will destroy the wicked.

    But the way of the righteous will prosper.

    The righteous will plant their vineyards;

    And they will drink their wine.

    The righteous will also gather the bounty of their fields.

    They will sing songs to Lord God of Hosts;

    Songs of Thanksgiving for Bread and Wine.

Lord God of Hosts is mighty in battle;

Lord God of Hosts is the King of Kings!

A Christmas Carol: Mother and the Drake-Slaying Christ-Child

A Christmas Carol

- Mother and the Drake-Slaying Christ-Child -

the beauty and genesis

a mother and the Christ-child

if not for the Word of a prophet

the love and sacrifice of a virgin

the strength and holy-rage of a Drake-Slayer

would have been unknown, beforehand

however, the Word of a prophet

was, indeed

the life of ransom-pay

their image the muse of an epoch

as a line upon line upon line upon line

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the gospel-four the story they-four writ

of beauty and genesis

of mother and the Christ-child

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as a precept upon precept upon precept upon precept

their gift-art the delight of fellow-man

the artists of centuries bring

the mother and the Christ-child

(the art)

the beauty and genesis

(they delight)

The Christ-Child . . . The World's Desire

A Christmas Carol by G. K. Chesterton.

The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all aright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast
His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.) 

The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,
His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world,
But here the world's desire.)

The Christ-child stood on Mary's knee,
His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at Him,
And all the stars looked down

Poem: Strength - Proverbs 31:25

Girl
Thou haveth fierce strength
Comely Woman
What type of strength is this?

From your womb
Comes forth the dragon-slayer
Skeletal crushing man

Mother Mary
The offspring of your holy womb
He is
Terrible as an army with banners

Silencing, mouths of fools
Dashing, the wicked's child
They shatter against, the Rock
That Rock in the wilderness
Terrible as an army with banners

Girl
What type of strength is this?

Roman

My-
Brother is Roman.

But my-
Brother is Roman.

My wife-
My wife-and-I are Not.

The University

For four years we-
Studied at the University
We tried to look busy, looking busy
An entire generation being over-looked

Hey, Mister, no matter-
We learned to look busy, looking busy.
But how, Mister, can these sons compete
In a world full of, full of Fathers?

For four years we-
Studied this City
We studied each other, to become ourselves
But the City is not a University to become ourselves, looking busy

Four Years Ago

When I was a twenty-one year old collegiate
I learned a prayer for the first time from a classmate,
“Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

The two of us and our friend with the shaved head
Seeking forgiveness of sin and the Kingdom -
Everywhere, at all times, and by any Universal means.

The Hoosier Alleyway

gray sky and muddy snow and scuffed shoes
Yellow Balloon still caught in the branches
of the neighbors tree

going to work really is not
that bad, praise the Lord,
after all

Peter Pan

Portrait of a Modern Man

Wishing I were Peter Pan
That I did not know any stories
Which would be a marvelous excuse
For being the Meathead and Ass
That I am

But unlike Peter Pan
My friend does not call me an Ass
Or at least not to my face
Only prolonging my misery and
Wretched state

East of Harmon Street

The Hoosier Alleyway

I like to watch the Cars on the road intersecting the alleyway
Which I walk along as I shortcut across the town to work
The Cars come and go and I watch them
My head looking left to right and back again

One would think I was at the All England Lawn Tennis Club
And that the Cars were tennis balls being volleyed between the giants
But no -- they are still Automobiles and I am still in the alleyway
Pretending that their exhaust is either large cotton-balls or
The ghosts of dogs nipping at their heals